Woman’s  College  Library 


DUKE  UNIVERSITY 

DURHAM,  N.  C. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/collectedessaysr01jame 


BY  WILLIAM  JAMES 

The  Principles  of  Psychology.  2 vols.  8vo.  New  York:  Henry 
Holt  & Co.  London:  Macmillan  & Co.  1890. 

Psychology:  Briefer  Course.  i2mo.  New  York:  Henry  Holt  & Co. 
London:  Macmillan  & Co.  1892. 

The  Will  to  Believe,  and  Other  Essays  In  Popular  Philosophy. 

i2mo.  New  York  and  London:  Longmans,  Green  & Co.  1897. 

Human  Immortality:  Two  Supposed  Objections  to  the  Doc- 
trine. i6mo.  Boston:  Houghton,  Mifflin  & Co.  London:  J.  M. 
Dent  & Co.  1898. 

Talks  to  Teachers  on  Psychology:  and  to  Students  on  Some  of 
Life's  Ideals,  iamo.  New  York:  Henry  Holt  & Co.  London: 
Longmans , Green  & Co.  1899. 

The  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience.  New  York  and  London: 
Longmans,  Green  & Co.  1902. 

Pragmatism.  New  York  and  London:  Longmans,  Green  & Co.  1907. 
The  Meaning  of  Truth:  A Sequel  to  Pragmatism.  New  York 
and  London:  Longmans,  Green  & Co.  1909. 

A Pluralistic  Universe.  New  York  and  London:  Longmans,  Green  & 
Co.  1909. 

Memories  and  Studies.  New  York  and  London:  Longmans,  Green  & 
Co.  1911. 

Some  Problems  in  Philosophy.  New  York  and  London:  Longmans, 
Green  & Co.  1911. 

Essays  in  Radical  Empiricism.  New  York  and  London:  Longmans, 
Green  & Co.  1912. 

Collected  Essays  and  Reviews.  8vo.  New  York  and  London: 
Longmans,  Green  & Co.  1920. 

Annotated  Bibliography  of  the  Writings  of  William  James. 

8vo.  New  York  and  London:  Longmans,  Green  & Co.  1920. 

Letters  of  William  James.  Edited,  with  Biographical  Introduction 
and  Notes,  by  his  son,  Henry  James.  Illustrated.  2 vols.  Boston: 
the  Atlantic  Monthly  Press,  Inc.:  London:  Longmans,  Green  & Co.  1920. 


The  Literary  Remains  of  Henry  James.  Edited,  with  an  introduc- 
tion, by  William  James.  With  Portrait.  Crown  8vo.  $2.00.  Boston: 
Houghton,  Mifflin  & Co.  1885. 


Selections 

Habit.  (A  chapter  from  the  “Psychology.”)  i6mo.  New  York:  Henry 
Holt  & Co. 

On  Some  of  Life’s  Ideals.  (Containing  “On  a Certain  Blindness  in 
Human  Beings”  and  “What  Makes  a Life  Significant.”)  i6mo. 
New  York:  Henry  Holt  & Co. 

On  Vital  Reserves.  (Containing  “The  Energies  of  Men”  and  “The 
Gospel  of  Relaxation.”)  i6mo.  New  York:  Henry  Holt  & Co. 


COLLECTED 
ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS 

BY 

WILLIAM  JAMES 

*8? 


LONGMANS,  GREEN  AND  CO. 

FOURTH  AVENUE  & 30th  STREET,  NEW  YORK 
39  PATERNOSTER  ROW,  LONDON 
BOMBAY,  CALCUTTA,  AND  MADRAS 

1920 


I 


'"J 


COPYRIGHT,  1920,  BY  LONGMANS,  GREEN  & CO. 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


PRESS  OF  GEO.  H.  ELLIS  CO.t  BOSTON 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Preface  v 

I.  Sargent's  Planchette  [1869]  . . 1 

, II.  Lewes's  Problems  of  Life  and  Mind 

[1875]  4 

III.  German  Pessimism  [1875]  ...  12 

IV.  Chauncey  Wright  [1875]  ...  20 

■ , Y.  Bain  and  Renouvier  [1876]  ...  26 

VI.  Renan's  Dialogues  [1876]  ...  36 

• VII.  Lewes's  Physical  Basis  of  Mind 

[1877] 40 

' VIII.  Remarks  on  Spencer's  Definition 

of  Mind  as  Correspondence  [1878]  43 

IX.  Quelques  Considerations  sur  la 

Methode  Subjective  [1878]  . . 69 

X.  The  Sentiment  of  Rationality 

[1879] 83 

XI.  Clifford's  Lectures  and  Essays 

[1879] 137 

■ XII.  Spencer's  Data  of  Ethics  [1879]  147 

■ XIII.  The  Feeling  of  Effort  [1880]  . 151 

XIV.  The  Sense  of  Dizziness  in  Deaf- 

Mutes  [1882] 220 

XV.  What  is  an  Emotion?  [1884]  . . 244 

C-'  XVI.  The  Religious  Aspect  of  Philoso- 
phy [1885] 276 

XVII.  The  Consciousness  of  Lost  Limbs 

[1887] 285 

XVIII.  Reponse  aux  Remarques  de  M. 

Renouvier  sur  sa  Th^orie  de  la 

Volonte  [18S8] 303 

XIX.  The  Psychological  Theory  of  Ex- 
tension [1889] 310 


iii 

43fi?8 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


XX. 


XXI. 


• XXII. 

• XXIII. 

• XXIV. 


XXV. 

XXVI. 

' XXVII. 
XXVIII. 

XXIX. 


XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

,/XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 


XXXVIII. 

XXXIX. 


A Plea  for  Psychology  as  a “Nat- 
ural Science”  [1S92]  .... 
The  Original  Datum  of  Space- 
Consciousness  [1893]  . . . . 
Mr.  Bradley  on  Immediate  Re- 
semblance [1893]  

Immediate  Resemblance  [1893]  . 
Ladd’s  Psychology:  Descriptive  and 

Explanatory  [1894] 

The  Physical  Basis  of  Emotion 

[1894]  

The  Knowing  of  Things  Together 

[1895]  

Degeneration  and  Genius  [1895]  . 
Philosophical  Conceptions  and 
Practical  Results  [1898]  . . 

Hodgson’s  Observations  of  Trance 

[1898]  

Personal  Idealism  [1903]  .... 
The  Chicago  School  [1904]  . . . 

Humanism  [1904] 

Laura  Bridgman  [1904]  . . . . 
G.  Papini  and  the  Pragmatist 
Movement  in  Italy  [1906]  . . . 
The  Mad  Absolute  [1906]  . . . 

Controversy  about  Truth  [1907] 
Report  on  Mrs.  Piper’s  Hodgson- 

Control  [1909]  

Bradley  or  Bergson?  [1910]  . . 
A Suggestion  about  Mysticism 

[1910]  

Index  


316 

328 

333 

339 

342 

346 

371 

401 

406 

438 

442 

445 

448 

453 

459 

467 

470 

484 

491 

500 

515 


iv 


PREFACE 


This  volume  brings  together  for  the  convenience 
of  students  thirty-nine  scattered  articles  and  re- 
views by  William  James.  None  of  these  has  here- 
tofore appeared  in  book  form,  and  many  have 
been  lost  sight  of  and  forgotten.  The  present  vol- 
ume when  added  to  those  already  published  will 
render  easily  accessible  nearly  all  of  the  author’s 
significant  writings.  The  few  exceptions  will  be 
noted  presently. 

In  presenting  this  book  to  the  public  the  editor 
is  fully  aware  that  he  will  meet  with  criticism  from 
two  opposite  angles,  on  the  one  hand  from  those  who 
disbelieve  in  posthumous  publications  altogether, 
and  on  the  other  hand  from  those  who  would  reprint 
every  work  of  the  author’s  pen  whose  authenticity 
can  be  established. 

The  justification  of  publishing  such  a book  at  all 
lies  in  the  interest  and  convenience  of  the  wide  circle 
of  James’s  students  and  of  the  still  wider  circle  of 
those  who  delight  in  reading  him.  The  forthcoming 
Annotated  Bibliography  of  the  Writings  of  William 
James  (1920)  contains  approximately  three  hun- 
dred titles,  exclusive  of  translations  and  posthu- 
mous publications.  Of  these  only  nine  are  the  titles 
of  books,  and  of  these  nine  books,  only  three 
(Human  Immortality,  Varieties  of  Religious  Ex- 
perience, and  Psychology : Briefer  Course)  had  not 


PREFACE 


been  in  whole  or  part  previously  published  in  peri- 
odicals. For  over  forty  years  from  1868  up  to 
within  a few  months  of  his  death  in  1910,  James 
wrote  essays,  articles,  reviews,  and  letters  almost 
continuously.  Nor  were  these  hastily  written  and 
subsequently  revised.  It  was  the  author’s  habit 
to  write  well  and  finally  when  he  did  write;  and 
then  when  he  had  something  more  to  say,  to  write 
again.  In  other  words  there  is  a finished  quality, 
both  of  style  and  of  thought,  in  most  of  his  periodi- 
cal writings.  While  many  of  these  writings  have 
already  been  collected,  some  by  James  himself, 
others  since  his  death,  these  represent  only  a frac- 
tion of  the  whole.  Among  the  periodical  writings 
omitted  from  previous  volumes  are  many  which  are 
of  great  value  for  the  light  which  they  throw  upon 
James’s  own  development  and  his  relations  with  his 
contemporaries,  as  well  as  for  their  philosophical 
and  psychological  content.  Scattered  through  vari- 
ous periodicals  they  can  only  with  difficulty  be  con- 
sulted by  the  student,  and  are  entirely  inaccessible 
to  the  average  reader.  In  addition  to  these  the  pres- 
ent volume  contains  a number  of  reviews  which  were 
originally  published  unsigned,  and  whose  author- 
ship has  not  heretofore  been  announced. 

There  are  undoubtedly  many  devotees  of  James 
who  will  regret  that  James’s  scattered  writings 
have  not  all  been  reprinted.  As  a matter  of  fact, 
many  of  the  reviews  contain  little  else  than  exposi- 
tory matter,  many  of  the  articles  have  been  in  sub- 
stance restated  elsewhere,  and  many  of  the  letters 

vi 


PREFACE 


and  shorter  writings  are  of  such  a nature  as  to  be 
more  suitable  to  a biography.  Some  of  this  last 
group  are  quoted  or  cited  in  the  forthcoming 
Letters  of  William  James.  The  editor  is  further 
reconciled  to  the  omission  of  these  three  groups  of 
writings  by  the  fact  that  the  Annotated  Bibliog- 
raphy will  serve  to  make  thetn  known  and  will 
enable  a sufficiently  eager  reader  to  find  them. 

There  is  one  group  of  articles  that  has  presented 
a peculiar  problem,  which  has  not  been  solved  with- 
out misgivings.  The  three  articles,  “Are  We  Auto- 
mata?” Mind , 1879,  “The  Spacial  Quale,”  Journal 
of  Speculative  Philosophy,  1879,  and  “On  Some 
Omissions  of  Introspective  Psychology,”  Mind, 
1884,  are  all  psychological  classics.  Each  deals 
with  one  of  James’s  most  original  and  important 
contributions  to  the  subject.  None  of  these  was  re- 
printed as  a whole  in  the  Principles  of  Psychology, 
and  they  have  great  historical  interest  as  they 
stand.  Nevertheless  there  is  no  important  differ- 
ence between  the  content  of  these  articles  and  that 
of  those  chapters  of  the  Principles  which  deal  with 
the  same  topics.  Furthermore  the  preparation  of 
the  Annotated  Bibliography  has  afforded  the  editor 
an  opportunity  of  calling  attention  to  them  and  of 
relating  them  to  James’s  other  writings.  Hence, 
in  view  of  their  great  length,  it  has  been  deemed 
best  to  omit  them  from  the  present  volume.  But  at 
the  same  time  several  other  articles  of  the  same  type 
have  been  included : “Spencer’s  Definition  of  Mind 
as  Correspondence”  because  of  its  unique  historical 


vii 


PREFACE 


importance,  as  perhaps  the  key  to  all  of  James’s 
later  thought;  “The  Sentiment  of  Rationality”  be- 
cause of  the  light  which  it  throws  on  James’s  phil- 
osophical sources;  “The  Feeling  of  Effort”  because 
of  its  extreme  inaccessibility  in  its  present  form; 
“What  is  an  Emotion?”  because,  being  written  before 
the  publication  of  Lange’s  work  on  the  same  subject, 
it  throws  important  light  on  the  question  of  priority 
respecting  the  famous  “James-Lange  theory.” 

It  would  in  some  respects  have  been  more  satis- 
factory if  the  papers  contained  in  the  present  vol- 
ume had  been  arranged  in  accordance  with  their 
subject-matter,  or  grouped  under  the  headings 
“Philosophy,”  “Psychology,”  and  “Psychical  Re- 
search.” But  such  a classification  would  have 
been  entirely  artificial  and  would  have  obscured  the 
unity  of  the  author’s  thought.  Such  papers  as 
“Spencer’s  Definition  of  Mind  as  Correspondence”  or 
“The  Sentiment  of  Rationality”  are  equally  philo- 
sophical and  psychological ; at  any  rate,  to  group 
them  as  the  one  or  the  other  would  have  been  to 
put  a certain  construction  on  them  instead  of  let- 
ting them  speak  for  themselves.  The  chronological 
arrangement  which  has  been  adopted  is  convenient 
and  colorless,  and  has  the  additional  advantage  of 
indicating  the  sequence  of  the  author’s  intellectual 
development. 

In  the  preparation  of  this  volume  I have  con- 
sulted many  of  James’s  friends,  and  while  I am 
alone  responsible  for  the  ultimate  selection,  I have 
been  guided  so  far  as  possible  by  the  judgment  of 

viii 


PREFACE 


those  who  were  best  qualified  both  by  their  interest 
in  James  and  by  their  familiarity  with  the  subject- 
matter  of  his  writings.  It  gives  me  pleasure  to 
acknowledge  the  help  of  Dr.  E.  B.  Holt,  Dr.  R.  M. 
Yerkes,  Dr.  F.  C.  S.  Schiller,  Judge  T.  M.  Shackle- 
ford, Professor  E.  B.  Titchener,  Professor  D.  S. 
Miller,  Dr.  James  R.  Angell,  Dr.  H.  M.  Kallen,  and 
Dr.  Benjamin  Rand.  My  colleagues,  Professor  H.  S. 
Langfeld  and  Professor  W.  B.  Cannon,  have  been 
especially  generous  of  their  time,  and  on  certain 
technical  matters  beyond  my  competence  their  as- 
sistance has  been  invaluable.  Finally,  the  under- 
taking would  have  been  entirely  impossible  without 
the  continuous  encouragement  and  co-operation  of 
Mr.  Henry  James. 

The  recent  reading  and  re-reading  of  all  of  James’s  - 
known  writings  have  impressed  two  things  very 
deeply  on  my  mind.  First,  there  was  one  and  only  a 
one  James  from  the  beginning  to  the  end.  With  all 
of  his  versatility  and  openmindedness  he  remained 
unconsciously  loyal  to  certain  fundamental  con- 
victions. It  is  even  permissible  to  say  that  there  * 
is  one  germinal  idea  from  which  his  whole  thought 
grew,  provided  we  do  not  overlook  the  even  more 
important  fact  that  his  thought  did  grow.  This  * 
germinal  idea  is  the  idea  of  the  essentially  active 
and  interested  character  of  the  human  mind.  Sec-  " 
ond,  I have  been  impressed  as  never  before  by 
James’s  extraordinary  intellectual  chivalry  and 
hospitality,  the  reflection  of  his  peculiar  social 
genius.  He  was  a man  quick  to  reach  to  the  heart 


IX 


PREFACE 


of  another  man,  quick  to  praise,  quick  to  esteem 
the  gifts  of  others,  even  when,  as  sometimes  hap- 
pened, no  one  else  esteemed  them  at  all.  This  grati- 
tude which  James  felt  so  genuinely  and  manifested 
with  so  much  kindliness  was  not  infrequently  the 
foundation  in  others  of  their  sustaining  self-re- 
spect. Beginning  with  the  older  generation  of 
his  father  and  teachers,  and  ending  with  the 
younger  generation  of  his  children  and  students,  his 
life  was  a continuous  succession  of  marvellous  hu- 
man discoveries.  As  it  was  with  his  personal  inter- 
course, so  it  was  in  his  relations  with  those  whom 
he  knew  more  remotely  or  only  through  their  writ- 
ings. Most  of  these  discoveries  he  has  published 
to  the  world,  in  his  prefaces  and  citations,  or  in 
those  remarkable  memorial  addresses  which  have 
been  reprinted  in  the  Memories  and  Studies  and 
which  few  men  have  known  so  well  how  to  write. 

When,  as  in  this  volume,  we  view  James’s  thought 
throughout  its  entire  length,  we  find  him  moving 
steadily  abreast  of  his  time  and  welcoming  new 
ideas  with  eagerness  and  relish  down  to  the  day  of 
his  death.  But  despite  this  fact  he  was  somehow 
never  swept  off  his  feet.  He  was  never  fickle  or 
vacillating,  nor  did  his  thought  ever  lose  its  highly 
personal  and  characteristic  flavor.  There  are  few 
intellectual  histories  in  which  quick  enthusiasm  and 
love  of  novelty  are  so  perfectly  balanced  by  steadi- 
ness and  discipline. 

Ralph  Barton  Perry. 

Cambridge,  Mass. 

May  24, 1920. 

X 


I 

SAEGENT’S  “PLAN CHETTE”  1 

[1869] 


A reader  of  scientific  habits  of  thought  would 
have  been  more  interested  by  a very  few  cases  de- 
scribed by  the  author  over  his  own  signature,  and 
with  every  possible  detail  given,  in  which  pedanti- 
cally minute  precautions  had  been  taken  against 
illusion  of  the  senses  or  deceit.  Of  course  it  is  quite 
natural  that  people  who  are  comfortably  in  pos- 
session of  a season-ticket  over  the  Stygian  ferry, 
and  daily  enjoying  the  privileges  it  confers  of 
correspondence  with  the  “summer-land,”  should 
grow  out  of  all  sympathy  with  the  critical  vigilance 
and  suspicion  about  details  which  characterize 
the  intellectual  condition  of  the  “Sadducees,”  as  our 
author  loves  to  call  the  earth-bound  portion  of  the 
community.  From  his  snug  home  in  an  atmosphere 
in  which  pianos  float,  “soft  warm  hands”  bud  forth 
from  vacant  space,  and  lead  pencils  write  alone,  the 
spiritualist  has  a right  to  feel  a personal  disdain 

1 Selected  paragraphs  comprising  about  one-half  of  an  un- 
signed review  of  E.  Sargent’s  Planchette:  or  the  Despmr  of 
Science;  which  review  was  originally  printed  in  Boston  Daily 
Advertiser,  March  10,  1869.  The  book  offered  a history  and  de- 
fense of  modern  spiritualism.  In  connection  with  the  date  of 
the  review  it  is  to  be  noted  that  the  Society  for  Psychical  Re- 
search was  not  founded  until  1882. 


1 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0869] 


for  the  “scientific  man”  who  stands  inertly  aloof  in 
his  pretentious  enlightenment.  Scientific  men  seem 
to  demand  that  spiritualists  should  come  and 
demonstrate  to  them  the  truth  of  their  doctrine, 
by  something  little  short  of  a surgical  operation 
upon  their  intellects.  But  the  spiritualist,  from  his 
point  of  view,  is  quite  justified  in  leaving  them  for- 
ever on  their  “laws  of  nature,”  unconverted,  since 
he  in  no  way  needs  their  countenance. 

But  an  author  writing  avowedly  for  purposes  of 
propagandism  should  have  recognized  more  fully 
the  attitude  of  this  class,  and  recollected  that  one 
narrative  personally  vouched  for  and  minutely  con- 
trolled, would  be  more  apt  to  fix  their  attention, 
than  a hundred  of  the  striking  but  comparatively 
vaguely  reported  second-hand  descriptions  which 
fill  many  of  the  pages  of  this  book.  The  present 
attitude  of  society  on  this  whole  question  is  as 
extraordinary  and  anomalous  as  it  is  discreditable 
to  the  pretensions  of  an  age  which  prides  itself  on 
enlightenment  and  the  diffusion  of  knowledge.  We 
see  tens  of  thousands  of  respectable  people  on  the 
one  hand  admitting  as  facts  of  every  day  certainty, 
what  tens  of  thousands  of  others  equally  respect- 
able claim  to  be  abject  and  contemptible  delusion; 
while  other  tens  of  thousands  are  content  to  stand 
passively  in  the  dark  between  these  two  hosts  and 
in  doubt,  the  matter  meanwhile  being — rightfully 
considered — one  of  really  transcendent  interest.  In 
this  state  of  things  recrimination  is  merely  lost 
time.  Those  people  who  have  the  interests  of  truth 


2 


[1869] 


SARGENT’S  “PLANCHETTE” 


at  heart  should  remember  that  personal  dignity  is 
of  very  little  comparative  consequence.  If  our 
author,  in  concert  with  some  good  mediums,  had 
instituted  some  experiments  in  which  everything 
should  be  protected  from  the  possibility  of  deceit, 
remembering  that  the  morality  of  no  one  in  such  a 
case  is  to  be  taken  for  granted,  and  that  such  per- 
sonal precautions  cannot  be  offensively  construed, 
he  would  probably  have  made  a better  contribution 
to  clearing  up  the  subject  than  he  has  now  done. 


3 


II 


LEWES’S  “PROBLEMS  OF  LIFE  AND 
MIND”  1 

[1875] 

More  problems!  Why  should  we  read  them  if 
they  are  not  our  problems,  but  only  Mr.  Lewes’s? 
Of  all  forms  of  earthly  worry,  the  metaphysical 
worry  seems  the  most  gratuitous.  If  it  lands  us  in 
permanently  skeptical  conclusions,  it  is  worse  than 
superfluous;  and  if  (as  is  almost  always  the  case 
with  non-skeptical  systems)  it  simply  ends  by  “in- 
dorsing” common-sense,  and  reinstating  us  in  the 
possession  of  our  old  feelings,  motives,  and  duties, 
we  may  fairly  ask  if  it  was  worth  while  to  go  so  far 
round  in  order  simply  to  return  to  our  starting- 
point  and  be  put  back  into  the  old  harness.  Is  not 
the  primal  state  of  philosophic  innocence,  since 
the  practical  difference  is  nil,  as  good  as  the  state  of 
reflective  enlightenment?  And  need  we,  provided 
we  can  stay  at  home  and  take  the  world  for  granted, 
undergo  the  fatigues  of  a campaign  with  such  un- 
comfortable spirits  as  the  present  author,  merely 
for  the  sake  of  coming  to  our  own  again,  with  noth- 
ing gained  but  the  pride  of  having  accompanied  his 

t1  Review  of  Problems  of  Life  and  Mind,  by  George  Henry 
Lewes,  first  series,  1875.  Reprinted  from  Atlantic  Monthly, 
1875,  36,  361-363.  Ed.] 


4 


[1875] 


LEWES’S  PROBLEMS 


expedition?  So  we  may  ask.  But  is  the  pride 
nothing?  Consciousness  is  the  only  measure  of  ‘ is- 
utility,  and  even  if  no  philosophy  could  ever  alter 
a man’s  motives  in  life, — which  is  untrue, — that  it 
should  add  to  their  conscious  completeness  is 
enough  to  make  thousands  take  upon  themselves  its 
burden  of  perplexities.  We  like  the  sense  of  com- 
panionship with  better  and  more  eager  intelligences 
than  our  own,  and  that  increment  of  self-respect 
which  we  all  experience  in  passing  from  an  instinc- 
tive to  a reflective  state,  and  adopting  a belief  which 
hitherto  we  simply  underwent. 

Mr.  Lewes  has  drunk  deep  of  the  waters  of  skepti- 
cism that  have  of  late  years  been  poured  out  so 
freely  in  England,  but  he  has  worked  his  way 
through  them  into  a constructive  activity;  and  his 
work  is  only  one  of  many  harbingers  of  a reflux 
in  the  philosophic  tide.  All  philosophic  reflection 
is  essentially  skeptical  at  the  start.  To  common- 
sense,  and  in  fact  to  all  living  thought,  matters  ac- 
tually thought  of  are  held  to  be  absolutely  and 
objectively  as  we  think  them.  Every  representation 
per  se,  and  while  it  persists,  is  of  something  abso- 
lutely so.  It  becomes  relative,  flickering,  insecure, 
only  when  reduced,  only  in  the  light  of  further  con- 
sideration which  we  may  bring  forward  to  confront 
it  with.  This  may  be  called  its  reductive.  Row  the  * 
reductive  of  most  of  our  confident  beliefs  about 
Being  is  the  reflection  that  they  are  our  beliefs; 
that  we  are  turbid  media ; and  that  a form  of  being 
may  exist  uncontaminated  by  the  touch  of  the  fal- 


5 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  EE  VIEWS  [1875] 


lacious  knowing  subject.  In  the  light  of  this  con- 
ception, the  Being  we  know  droops  its  head;  but 
until  this  conception  has  been  formed  it  knows  no 
fear.  The  motive  of  most  philosophies  has  been  to 
find  a position  from  which  one  could  exorcise  the 
reductive , and  remain  securely  in  possession  of  a 
secure  belief.  Ontologies  do  this  by  their  concep- 
tion of  “necessary”  truth,  i.  e.,  a truth  with  no 
alternative;  with  a prceterea  nihil , and  not  a plus 
ultra  possibile;  a truth,  in  other  words,  whose  only 
reductive  would  be  the  impossible,  nonentity,  or 
zero. 

In  such  conclusions  as  these  philosophy  re-joins 
hands  with  common-sense.  For  above  all  things 
common-sense  craves  for  a stable  conception  of 
things.  We  desire  to  know  what  to  expect.  Once 
having  settled  down  into  an  attitude  towards  life 
both  as  to  its  details  and  as  a whole,  an  incalculable 
disturbance  which  might  arise,  disconcert  all  our 
judgments,  and  render  our  efforts  vain,  would  be  in 
the  last  degree  undesirable.  Now  as  a matter  of 
fact  we  do  live  in  a world  from  which  as  a rule  we 
know  what  to  expect.  Whatever  items  we  found  to- 
gether in  the  past  are  likely  to  coexist  in  the  future. 
Our  confidence  in  this  state  of  things  deprives  us  of 
all  sense  of  insecurity;  if  we  lay  our  plans  rightly 
the  world  will  fulfill  its  part  of  the  contract.  Com- 
mon-sense, or  popular  philosophy,  explains  this  by 
what  is  called  the  judgment  of  Substance,  that  is, 
by  the  postulation  of  a persistent  Nature,  immut- 
able by  time,  behind  each  phenomenal  group,  which 


6 


[1875] 


LEWES’S  PROBLEMS 


binds  that  group  together  and  makes  it  what  it  is 
essentially  and  eternally.  Even  in  regard  to  that 
mass  of  accidents  which  must  be  expected  to  occur 
in  some  shape  but  cannot  be  accurately  prophesied 
in  detail,  we  set  our  minds  at  rest,  by  saying  that 
the  world  with  all  its  events  has  a substantial 
cause;  and  when  we  call  this  cause  God,  Love,  or 
Perfection,  we  feel  secure  that  whatever  the  future 
may  harbor,  it  cannot  at  bottom  be  inconsistent 
with  the  character  of  this  term.  So  our  attitude 
towards  even  the  unexpected  is  in  a general  sense 
defined. 

Now  this  substantial  judgment  has  been  adopted 
by  most  dogmatic  philosophies.  They  have  ex- 
plained the  collocations  of  phenomena  by  an  im- 
mutable underlying  nature  or  natures,  beside  or 
beyond  which  they  have  posited  either  the  sphere 
of  the  Impossible,  if  they  professed  rationalism 
throughout,  or  merely  a de  facto  Nonentity  if  they 
admitted  the  element  of  Faith  as  legitimate.  But 
the  skeptical  philosophers  who  have  of  late  pre- 
dominated in  England  have  denied  that  the  sub- 
stantial judgment  is  legitimate  at  all,  and  in  so 
doing  have  seemed  among  other  things  to  deny  the 
legitimacy  of  the  confidence  and  repose  which  it 
engenders.  The  habitual  concurrence  of  the  same 
phenomena  is  not  a case  of  dynamic  connection  at 
all,  they  say.  It  may  happen  again — but  we  have 
no  rational  warrant  for  asserting  that  it  must. 
The  syntheses  of  data  we  think  necessary  are  only 
so  to  us , from  habit.  The  universe  may  turn  inside 


7 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1875] 


out  to-morrow,  for  auglit  we  know;  our  knowledge 
grasps  neither  the  essential  nor  the  immutable.  In- 
stead of  a nonentity  beyond,  there  is  a darkness, 
peopled  it  may  be  with  every  nightmare  shape. 
Their  total  divergence  from  popular  philosophy  has 
many  other  aspects,  but  this  last  thought  is  their 
reductive  of  its  tendency  to  theosophize  and  of  its 
dogmatic  confidence  in  general. 

The  originality  of  Mr.  Lewes  is  that  while  vigor- 
ously hissing  the  “Substances”  of  common-sense  and 
metaphysics  off  the  stage,  he  also  scouts  the  reduc- 
tive which  the  school  of  Mill  has  used,  and  main- 
tains the  absoluteness  and  essentiality  of  our  knowl- 
edge. The  world  according  to  him  as  according  to 
them  is  truly  enough  only  the  world  as  known , but 
for  us  there  is  no  other  world.  For  grant  a moment 
the  existence  of  such  a one : we  could  never  be  af- 
fected by  it;  as  soon  as  we  were  affected,  however, 
we  should  be  knowers  of  it,  in  the  only  sense  in 
which  there  is  any  knowledge  at  all,  the  sense  of 
subjective  determination, — and  it  would  have  be- 
come our  world.  Now,  as  such  it  is  a universe  and 
not  a heap  of  sand,  or,  as  has  been  said,  a nulliverse 
like  Mill’s.  Its  truths  are  ceternce  veritates,  essen- 
tial, exhaustive,  immutable.  We  can  settle  down 
upon  them  and  they  will  keep  their  promise.  The 
sum  of  all  the  properties  is  the  substance ; the  pred- 
icates are  the  subject;  each  property  is  the  other 
viewed  in  a “different  aspect.”  The  same  colloca- 
tions must  therefore  occur  in  the  future.  So  far 
from  the  notion  of  cause  being  illusory,  the  cause 

S 


[1875] 


LEWES’S  PROBLEMS 


is  the  effect  “in  another  relation,”  and  the  effect  the 
procession  of  the  cause.  The  identification  by  con- 
tinuity of  what  the  senses  discriminate,  and  so,  ac- 
cording to  the  reigning  empiricism,  disunite,  is 
carried  so  far  by  Mr.  Lewes  that  in  his  final  chapter 
he  affirms  the  psychic  event  which  accompanies  a 
tremor  in  the  brain  to  be  that  tremor  “in  a different 
aspect.” 

His  arguments  we  have  not  space  to  expose.  One 
thing  is  obvious,  however:  that  his  results  will 
meet  with  even  greater  disfavor  from  the  empirics 
than  from  the  ontologists  in  philosophy,  and  that 
the  pupils  of  Mill  and  Bain  in  particular  will  find 
this  bold  identification  of  the  sensibly  diverse  too 
mystical  to  pass  muster.  It  is  in  fact  the  revival 
of  the  old  Greek  puzzle  of  the  One  and  the  Many — 
how  each  becomes  the  other — which  they,  if  we  ap- 
prehend them  aright,  have  escaped  by  the  simple 
expedient  of  suppressing  the  One.  They  will  join 
hands  too  with  the  ontologists  in  conjuring  up  be- 
yond the  universe  recognized  by  Mr.  Lewes  the 
spectre  of  an  hypothetical  possible  Something,  not 
a Zero — only  the  ontologists  will  not  join  them 
again  in  letting  this  fill  the  blank  form  of  a logical 
reductive  pure  and  simple,  but  will  dub  it  the  uni- 
verse in  se,  or  the  universe  as  related  to  God,  if  Mr. 
Lewes  still  insists  on  their  defining  everything  as  in 
relation.  That  Mr.  Lewes  should  say  candidly  of 
this  thought  that  he  is  willing  to  ignore  it,  cannot 
restrain  them.  We  may  conclude,  therefore,  that 
ever-sprouting  reflection,  or  skepticism,  just  as  it 


9 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  i1875l 


preys  on  all  other  systems,  may  also  in  strict  theo- 
retic legitimacy  prey  upon  the  ultimate  data  of  Mr. 
Lewes’s  Positivism  taken  as  a whole;  even  though 
all  men  should  end  by  admitting  that  within  the 
bounds  of  that  empirical  whole,  his  views  of  the 
necessary  continuity  between  the  parts  were  true. 
To  this  reduction  by  a plus  ultra , Mr.  Lewes  can 
only  retort  by  saying,  “Foolishness!  So  much  on- 
tologic  thirst  is  a morbid  appetite.”  But  in  doing 
this  he  simply  falls  back  on  the  act  of  faith  of  all 
positivisms.  Weary  of  the  infinitely  receding  chase 
after  a theoretically  warranted  Absolute,  they  re- 
turn to  their  starting-point  and  break  off  there,  like 
practical  men,  saying,  “Physics,  we  espouse  thee; 
for  better  or  worse  be  thou  our  Absolute !” 

Skepticism,  or  unrest,  in  short,  can  always  have 
the  last  word.  After  every  definition  of  an  object, 
reflection  may  arise,  infect  it  with  the  cogito,  and 
so  discriminate  it  from  the  object  in  se.  This  is 
possible  ad  infinitum.  That  we  do  not  all  do  it  is 
because  at  a certain  point  most  of  us  get  tired  of 
the  play,  resolve  to  stop,  and  assuming  something 
for  true,  pass  on  to  a life  of  action  based  on  that. 

We  wish  that  Mr.  Lewes  had  emphasized  this 
volitional  moment  in  his  Positivism.  Although  the 
consistent  pyrrhonist  is  the  only  theoretically  un- 
assailable man,  it  does  not  follow  that  he  is  the 
right  man.  Between  us  and  the  universe,  there  are 
no  “rules  of  the  game.”  The  important  thing  is  that 
our  judgments  should  be  right,  not  that  they  should 
observe  a logical  etiquette.  There  is  a brute,  blind 


10 


[1875] 


LEWES’S  PEOBLEMS 


element  in  every  thought  which  still  has  the  vital 
heat  within  it  and  has  not  yet  been  reflected  on. 
Our  present  thought  always  has  it,  we  cannot  es- 
cape it,  and  we  for  our  part  think  philosophers  had 
best  acknowledge  it,  and  avowedly  posit  their  uni- 
verse, staking  their  persons,  so  to  speak,  on  the 
truth  of  their  position.  In  practical  life  we  despise 
a man  who  will  risk  nothing,  even  more  than  one 
who  will  heed  nothing.  May  it  not  be  that  in  the 
theoretic  life  the  man  whose  scruples  about  flawless 
accuracy  of  demonstration  keep  him  forever  shiver- 
ing on  the  brink  of  Belief  is  as  great  an  imbecile  as 
the  man  at  the  opposite  pole,  who  simply  consults 
his  prophetic  soul  for  the  answer  to  everything? 
What  is  this  but  saying  that  our  opinions  about  the 
nature  of  things  belong  to  our  moral  life? 

Mr.  Lewes’s  personal  fame  will  now  stand  or  fall 
by  the  credo  he  has  published.  We  do  not  think  the 
fame  should  suffer,  even  though  we  reserve  our  as- 
sent to  important  parts  of  the  creed.  The  book  is 
full  of  vigor  of  thought  and  felicity  of  style,  in  spite 
of  its  diffuseness  and  repetition.  It  will  refute 
many  of  the  objections  made  by  critics  to  the  first 
volume ; and  will,  we  doubt  not,  be  a most  important 
ferment  in  the  philosophic  thought  of  the  immediate 
future. 


11 


Ill 


GERMAN  PESSIMISM1 

[1875] 

The  German  intellect  is  a far  more  complex 
affair  than  the  English  intellect,  and  a fortiori  than 
the  French  or  Italian.  From  sensualism  to  mysti- 
cism, from  fatalistic  quietism  to  the  most  ruthless 
practicality,  there  is  hardly  a mental  quality  or 
tendency  which  one  will  not  find  better  represented 
in  Germany  than  elsewhere ; save  only  one,  and  that 
is  the  quality  of  naivete  or  spontaneity.  Every  sub- 
ject of  King  William  is,  ex-officio , reflective  and  self- 
conscious,  unable  to  surrender  himself  to  any 
sentiment,  however  simple,  till  he  has  reflected  on 
it  and  woven  it  into  a systematic  theory,  or  in  other 
words  transmuted  it  from  an  impulse  into  a princi- 
ple. Whatever  the  German  feels  or  does,  he  does 
with  malice  prepense ; he  justifies  himself,  by  show- 
ing that  the  act  or  thought  must  rightfully  flow 
from  one  in  his  position.  Whether  the  position  be 
that  of  a citizen  properly  filled  with  Nationalbe- 
wusstsein,  of  a competitor  in  the  egoistic  struggle 
for  existence,  of  a subject  of  the  Categorical  Im- 
perative, or  of  a Moment  in  the  Weltprozess,  is  all 

t1  A review  of  Der  Modern  Pessimismus,  by  Dr.  Edmund 
Pfleiderer.  Berlin,  1875.  Reprinted  from  Nation,  1875,  21, 
233-234.  Ed.] 


12 


[1875] 


GERMAN  PESSIMISM 


one — we  find  everywhere  that  same  cold-blooded 
self-corroboration  and  merging  of  the  personal  deed 
in  universal  considerations  which,  more  than  ma- 
terial spoliation  and  Draconian  discipline,  exasper- 
ated the  French  during  the  late  invasion,  and  have 
made  them  call  the  Germans  “hypocrites”  ever 
since. 

Perhaps  as  striking  an  illustration  of  this  over- 
weening tendency  to  theorize  as  can  be  found  is 
afforded  by  the  popular  German  school  of  pessi- 
mistic philosophy,  of  which  Professor  Pfleiderer’s 
pamphlet  is  the  latest  and  one  of  the  ablest  criti- 
cisms. In  other  countries,  aristocratic  misan- 
thropes, dyspeptic  pleasure-seekers,  and  unappreci- 
ated geniuses  have  existed,  and  their  utterances 
never  passed  beyond  the  sphere  of  splenetic  or 
pathetic  individuality.  Souls  with  an  unassuage- 
able  love  of  justice  and  harmony  have  also  existed, 
and  their  utterances,  like  Leopardi’s  and  Shelley’s, 
have  been  lyrical  cries  of  defiance  or  despair,  which 
perished  with  them.  It  was  reserved  for  Schopen- 
hauer to  show  his  countrymen  that  the  cursing  and 
melting  moods  could  be  kept  alive  permanently, 
and  extended  indefinitely  by  making  proper  theo- 
retic deliberation;  and  Schopenhauer’s  disciple 
Hartmann,  whose  work,  the  Philosophic  des  Uribe- 
wussten,  has  met  with  one  of  the  greatest  literary 
successes  of  the  time,  and  carried  the  new  gospel 
into  regions  where  the  torch  of  metaphysics  had 
never  yet  begun  to  glimmer,  has  made  everything  so 
simple  and  perfect  in  his  system,  that  all  who  have 


13 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  BE  VIEWS  0875] 


a quarrel  with  destiny,  whether  peevish  or  tragic, 
can  be  housed  there  side  by  side,  without  altering 
their  mode  of  life  or  losing  any  of  their  “home  com- 
forts” in  the  process  of  cure.  For  it  would  be  un- 
pardonable in  these  philosophers  to  preach  disgust 
with  life  unless  the  disgust  were  likely  to  lead  the 
way  to  a cure.  Existence  being  of  course  the  original 
sin  of  that  substance  or  essence  of  things  which 
Schopenhauer  calls  “Will,”  and  to  which  Von  Hart- 
mann gives  the  name  of  “the  Unconscious,”  anni- 
hilation or  nirvana  is  of  course  the  cure.  And  in 
both  philosophies  this  may  be  attained  through  the 
thorough  and  final  intellectual  persuasion  of  the 
vanity  of  all  the  goods  of  life  and  the  consequent 
extinction  of  every  desire. 

But  here  begins  the  divergence.  The  aristocratic 
master  has  no  hopes  of  the  human  or  any  other 
race  as  a whole,  and  his  nirvana  is  restricted  to  the 
few  who  are  ascetics  and  saints.  In  the  witty 
words  of  Pfleiderer,  the  battle-cry  with  which  he 
plunges  into  life’s  fray  and  rallies  his  followers 
about  him  is  the  well-known  “sauve  qui  pent.”  The 
pupil,  on  the  contrary,  equipped  with  a Berlin  edu- 
cation and  imbued  with  notions  of  evolution  and 
progress  which  to  Schopenhauer  (who  wrote  before 
Darwin)  were  profoundly  distasteful,  provides  for 
a collective  salvation,  based  on  no  less  a perform- 
ance than  a unanimous  resolve  on  the  part  of  all 
sentient  beings,  penetrated  at  last  through  and 
through  with  tedium  vitce,  and  despair  of  gaining 
anything  by  fighting  it  out  on  the  line  of  existence — 


14 


[1875] 


GERMAN  PESSIMISM 


to  stop,  and  back  out  of  it,  when  this  world  will 
cease  at  any  rate.  Whether  there  will  ever  be 

i 

another  world  depends  wholly  on  whether  the 
wicked  old  “Unconscious”  chooses  again  to  emerge 
from  its  state  of  mere  potentiality;  and  as  it  is 
being  without  rhyme  or  reason,  a mere  brutum , the 
chances  for  and  against  that  unlucky  eventuality 
are  just  even,  or  expressed  in  mathematical  lan- 
guage by  the  fraction  one-half.  Schopenhauer’s 
philosophy,  says  Hartmann,  is  one  of  despair.  So 
far  is  this  from  being  the  worst  of  all  possible 
worlds,  that  it  is  the  best,  for  it  tends  invincibly 
to  the  summnm  bonum  of  extinction.  Let  no  man 
then  desert  the  ranks,  but  each  labor  in  the  Lord’s 
vineyard,  sneering,  lamenting,  and  cursing  as  he 
pleases,  getting  indigestion  himself,  and  begetting 
young,  to  inoculate  them  with  a disgust  greater 
than  his  own,  and  co-operating  so  with  the  grand 
movement  of  things  which  is  bound  to  culminate 
in  deliverance.  Above  all,  let  us  have  no  standing 
aloof  and  trying  prematurely  to  save  one’s  individ- 
ual self,  like  Schopenhauer’s  ascetics.  This  delight- 
fully unselfish  submission  to  epicurean  practice  in 
the  midst  of  pessimistic  theory  is  Hartmann’s 
cleverest  stroke.  As  in  Beranger’s  song : 

“Nous  laisserions  finir  le  monde 
Si  nos  femmes  le  voulaient  bien !” 

Schopenhauer  was  truly  a bungler.  But,  joking 
apart,  the  reader  can  easily  see  how  little  living 
seriousness  Hartmann  possesses.  He  seems  to  us 


15 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0875] 


to  have  a clever  journalistic  mind,  with  a Prussian 
education,  ready  for  any  paradox  which  will  make 
a sensation,  and  without  a grain  of  that  auctoritas 
which  belongs  to  the  sombre  and  impressive  genius 
of  his  teacher. 

The  latter  is  assuredly  one  of  the  greatest  of 
writers.  When  such  a one  expatiates  upon  the  texts 
of  Homo  homini  lupus  and  Woman  the  focus  of  the 
world’s  illusion,  he  will  have  all  the  cynics  with 
a taste  for  good  literature  for  his  admirers.  And 
when  he  preaches  compassion  to  be  the  one  cardinal 
virtue,  and  morbidly  reiterates  the  mystic  Sanskrit 
motto,  Tat  tioan  asi — This  [maniac  or  cripple]  art 
thou — as  the  truth  of  truths,  he  will  of  course  exert 
a spell  over  persons  in  the  unwholesome  sentimental 
moulting-time  of  youth.  But  the  thing  which  to  our 
Anglo-Saxon  mind  seems  so  outlandish  is  that 
crowds  of  dapper  fellows,  revelling  in  animal  spirits 
and  conscious  strength,  should  enroll  themselves  in 
cold  blood  as  his  permanent  apostles,  and  feel  as 
sorely  when  their  pessimism  is  attacked  as  the 
fabled  old  dead  inmate  of  the  almshouse  did  when, 
not  good  enough  for  heaven,  she  was  also  shut  out 
from  hell,  and  sat  on  the  road  and  wept  that  she 
should  have  to  return  to  Tewkesbury. 

For,  however  it  may  stand  with  Tewkesbury,  in 
the  world  at  large,  practically  considered,  optimism 
is  just  as  true  as  pessimism.  These  Germans  can 
attain  their  absolute  luxury  of  woe  only  by  speaking 
of  things  transcendentally  and  metaphysically.  As 
far  as  the  outward  animal  life  goes,  the  existence 


16 


[1875] 


GEKMAN  PESSIMISM 


of  a Walt  Whitman  confounds  Schopenhauer  quite 
as  thoroughly  as  the  existence  of  a Leopardi  refutes 
Dr.  Pangloss;  and  Hartmann’s  elaborate  indict- 
ment of  the  details  of  life  is  precisely  on  a par  in 
point  of  logic  with  the  “wisdom  and  beneficence” 
philosophy  of  the  most  edifying  and  gelatinous 
Sunday-school  orator.  Common-sense  contents  it- 
self with  the  unreconciled  contradiction,  laughs 
when  it  can,  and  weeps  when  it  must,  and  makes, 
in  short,  a practical  compromise,  without  trying  a 
theoretical  solution.  This  attitude  is  of  course  re- 
spectable. But  if  one  must  needs  have  an  ultimate 
theoretical  solution,  nothing  is  more  certain  than 
this,  that  no  one  need  assent  to  that  of  pessimism 
unless  he  freely  prefer  to  do  so.  Concerning  the 
metaphysical  world,  or  the  ultimate  meaning  of 
things,  there  is  no  outward  evidence — nothing  but 
conceptions  of  the  possible.  Distinct  among  these  is 
that  of  a moral  order  whose  life  may  be  fed  by  the 
contradictions  of  good  and  evil  that  occur  in  the  ex- 
ternal phenomenal  order.  Those  empiricists  who 
are  celebrating  nowadays  with  such  delight  the 
novel  mathematical  notion  of  a fourth  or  “tran- 
scendental” dimension  in  space,  should  be  the  last 
persons  to  dogmatize  against  the  possibility  of  a 
deeper  dimension  in  being  than  the  flat  surface- 
pattern  which  is  offered  by  its  pleasures  and  pains, 
taken  merely  as  such.  Now,  if  such  an  order  in  the 
world  is  possibly  true,  and  if,  supposing  it  to  be 
true,  it  may  afford  the  basis  for  an  ultimate  opti- 
mism (quite  distinct  from  mere  nerveless  senti- 


17 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0875] 


mentalism),  there  is  no  reason  which  should  deter 
a person  bent  on  haying  some  commanding  theory 
of  life  from  adopting  it  as  his  hypothesis  or  working 
faith.  He  may  of  course  prefer  pessimism,  but  only 
at  the  price  of  a certain  internal  inconsistency. 
(We  purposely  neglect  to  consider  dogmatic  ma- 
terialism here.)  For  pessimism  is  really  only  con- 
sistent with  a strictly  dogmatic  attitude.  It  is 
fatalistic  in  the  thorough  Oriental  sense,  being  by 
its  very  definition  a theory  from  which  one  is  bound 
to  escape,  if  he  can.  Its  account  of  things  is  con- 
fessedly abhorrent,  and  nothing  but  coercive  out- 
ward evidence  should  make  one  stay  within  its  pale. 
Now,  a hypothetical  door  like  that  offered  by  the 
notion  of  a ransoming  moral  order  “behind  the  veil’’ 
is  better  than  no  loophole  of  escape;  and  to  refuse 
to  give  one’s  self  the  benefit  of  its  presence  argues 
either  a perfectly  morbid  appetite  for  dogmatic 
forms  of  thought,  or  an  astounding  lack  of  genuine 
sense  for  the  tragic,  which  sense  undoubtedly 
varies,  like  every  other,  from  man  to  man. 

With  transcendental  optimism,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  is  just  the  reverse.  If  it  is  true,  why,  then, 
there  is  the  deepest  internal  congruity  in  its  not 
being  mechanically  forced  on  our  belief.  As  a 
fatalistic  nolens-volens  creed,  it  would  be  devoid  of 
all  moral  character.  Or  rather,  we  may  not  talk  of 
its  being  true,  but  becoming  true.  Its  full  verifi- 
cation must  be  contingent  on  our  complicity,  both 
theoretical  and  practical.  All  that  it  asserts  is 
that  the  facts  of  the  world  are  a fit  basis  for  the 


18 


[1875] 


GERMAN  PESSIMISM 


summum  bonum,  if  we  do  our  share  and  react  upon 
them  as  it  is  meant  we  should  (with  fortitude,  for 
example,  and  undismayed  hope).  The  world  is 
thus  absolutely  good  only  in  a potential  or  hypo- 
thetic sense,  and  the  hypothetic  form  of  the  opti- 
mistic belief  is  the  very  signature  of  its  consistency, 
and  first  condition  of  its  probability.  At  the  final* 
integration  of  things,  the  world’s  goodness  will  be 
an  accomplished  fact  and  self-evident,  but,  till  then, 
faith  is  the  only  legitimate  attitude  of  mind  it  can 
claim  from  us. 

So  plain  is  all  this  that  the  pessimistic  contro- 
versy has  far  more  of  an  ethnic  than  a philosophic 
interest  for  us.  We  are  only  sorry  that,  at  this 
distance,  the  data  are  too  few  for  us  to  see  what  its 
full  ethnic  import  is.  If  it  simply  result  in  con- 
firming in  Germany  the  tonic  creed  that  there 
comes  a time  when  every  good,  however  precious,  is 
fit  for  nothing  but  destruction,  for  the  sake  of  a 
higher  good,  and  that  passive  felicity  is  a dream,  it 
can  do  no  harm.  Dr.  Pfleiderer’s  pamphlet,  which 
takes  substantially  the  same  ground  as  we  do,  is 
both  temperate  and  witty,  and  may  be  cordially 
recommended  to  those  interested  in  the  subject. 


19 


IV 


CHAUNCEY  WRIGHT1 

[1875] 

The  death  which  we  briefly  noticed  last  week  re- 
minds us  most  sadly  of  the  law,  that  to  be  an  effec- 
tive great  man  one  needs  to  have  many  qualities 
great.  If  power  of  analytic  intellect  pure  and 
simple  could  suffice,  the  name  of  Chauncey  Wright 
would  assuredly  be  as  famous  as  it  is  now  obscure, 
for  he  was  not  merely  the  great  mind  of  a village — 
if  Cambridge  will  pardon  the  expression — but 
either  in  London  or  Berlin  he  would,  with  equal 
ease,  have  taken  the  place  of  master  which  he  held 
with  us.  The  reason  why  he  is  now  gone  without 
leaving  any  work  which  his  friends  can  consider  as 
a fair  expression  of  his  genius,  is  that  his  shyness, 
his  want  of  ambition,  and  to  a certain  degree  his 
indolence,  were  almost  as  exceptional  as  his  power 
of  thought.  Had  he,  in  early  life,  resolved  to  con- 

t1  Reprinted  from  Nation,  1875,  21,  194.  James  acknowledged 
his  indebtedness  to  Wright’s  “intellectual  companionship  in  old 
times,”  in  the  Preface  to  the  Principles  of  Psychology,  I,  p.  vii. 
He  borrowed  the  expression  cosmical  “weather,”  in  Will  to 
Believe,  p.  52.  There  are  important  points  of  resemblance  be- 
tween Wright  and  C.  S.  Peirce,  to  whom  James  gives  the  credit 
for  pragmatism.  Wright’s  death  occurred  on  September  12, 
1875,  in  his  forty-fifth  year.  His  Philosophical  Discussions 
have  been  collected  and  edited  with  a biography  by  C.  E. 
Norton,  New  York,  1877.  Ed.] 


20 


[1875] 


CHAUNCEY  WRIGHT 


centrate  these  and  make  himself  a physicist,  for 
example,  there  is  no  question  but  that  his  would 
have  ranked  to-day  among  the  few  first  living 
names.  As  it  was,  he  preferred  general  criticism 
and  contemplation,  and  became  something  resem- 
bling more  a philosopher  of  the  antique  or  Socratic 
type  than  a modern  Gelelirter.  His  best  work  has 
been  done  in  conversation;  and  in  the  acts  and 
writings  of  the  many  friends  he  influenced  his  spirit 
will,  in  one  way  or  another,  as  the  years  roll  on,  be 
more  operative  than  it  ever  was  in  direct  produc- 
tion. Born  at  Northampton  in  1830,  graduating  at 
Harvard  in  1852,  he  left  us  in  the  plenitude  of  his 
powers.  His  outward  work  is  limited  to  various 
articles  in  the  North  American  Review  (one  of 
which  Mr.  Darwin  thought  important  enough  to  re- 
print as  a pamphlet  in  England),  a paper  or  two 
in  the  Transactions  of  the  Academy  of  Arts  and 
Sciences,  and  a number  of  critical  notices  in  our 
own  pages — the  latest  of  these  being  the  article  en- 
titled “German  Darwinism,”  which  we1  published 
only  two  weeks  ago.  As  a writer,  he  was  defective 
in  the  shaping  faculty — he  failed  to  emphasize  the 
articulations  of  his  argument,  to  throw  a high 
light,  so  to  speak,  on  the  important  points ; so  that 
many  a casual  peruser  has  probably  read  on  and 
never  noticed  the  world  of  searching  consequences 
which  lurked  involved  in  some  inconspicuously 
placed  word.  He  spent  many  years  in  computing 
for  the  Nautical  Almanac  and  from  time  to  time 


1 The  Nation. 

21 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  KE VIEWS  t1875-> 


accepted  some  pedagogic  work.  He  gave  a course 
of  University  lectures  on  psychology  in  Harvard 
College  in  1871,  and  last  year  lie  conducted  there  a 
course  in  mathematical  physics.  As  little  of  a reader 
as  an  educated  man  well  can  be,  he  yet  astonished 
every  one  by  his  omniscience,  for  no  specialist  could 
talk  with  Cliauncey  Wright  without  receiving  some 
sort  of  instruction  in  his  specialty.  This  was  due 
to  his  irrepressible  spontaneous  habit  of  subtle 
thinking.  Every  new  fact  he  learned  set  his  whole 
mental  organism  in  motion,  and  reflection  did  not 
cease  till  the  novel  thought  was  firmly  woven  with 
the  entire  system  of  his  knowledge.  Of  course  in 
this  process  new  conclusions  were  constantly 
evolved,  and  many  a man  of  science  who  hoped  to 
surprise  him  with  news  of  a discovery  has  been  him- 
self surprised  by  finding  it  already  constructed  by 
Wright  from  data  separately  acquired  in  this  or 
that  conversation  with  one  or  other  of  the  many 
scholars  of  Cambridge  or  Boston,  most  of  whom  he 
personally  knew  so  well. 

In  philosophy,  he  was  a worker  on  the  path 
opened  by  Hume,  and  a treatise  on  psychology  writ- 
ten by  him  (could  he  have  been  spared  and  induced 
to  undertake  the  drudgery)  would  probably  have 
been  the  last  and  most  accomplished  utterance  of 
what  he  liked  to  call  the  British  school.  He  would 
have  brought  the  work  of  Mill  and  Bain  for  the 
present  to  a conclusion.  Of  the  two  motives  to 
which  philosophic  systems  owe  their  being,  the  crav- 
ing for  consistency  or  unity  in  thought,  and  the  de- 


22 


[1875] 


CHAUNCEY  WRIGHT 


sire  for  a solid  outward  warrant  for  our  emotional 
ends,  his  mind  was  dominated  only  by  the  former. 
Never  in  a human  head  was  contemplation  more  ■ 
separated  from  desire.  Schopenhauer,  who  defined 
genius  as  a cognitive  faculty  manumitted  from  the 
service  of  the  will,  would  have  found  in  him  an  even 
stronger  example  of  his  definition  than  he  cared  to 
meet.  For  to  Wright’s  mode  of  looking  at  the  uni- 
verse such  ideas  as  pessimism  or  optimism  were 
alike  simply  irrelevant.  Whereas  most  men’s  inter-  * 
est  in  a thought  is  proportioned  to  its  possible  re- 
lation to  human  destiny,  with  him  it  was  almost  the 
reverse.  When  the  mere  actuality  of  phenomena 
will  suffice  to  describe  them,  he  held  it  pure  excess 
and  superstition  to  speak  of  a metaphysical  whence 
or  whither,  of  a substance,  a meaning,  or  an  end. 
Just  as  in  cosmogony  he  preferred  Mayer’s  theory 
to  the  nebular  hypothesis,  and  in  one  of  his  earliest 
North  American  Review  articles  used  the  happy 
phrase,  “cosmical  weather,”  to  describe  the  irregu- 
lar dissipation  and  aggregation  of  worlds;  so,  in 
contemplating  the  totality  of  being,  he  preferred  to 
think  of  phenomena  as  the  result  of  a sort  of  on- 
tologic  weather,  without  inward  rationality,  an 
aimless  drifting  to  and  fro,  from  the  midst  of  which 
relatively  stable  and  so  (for  us)  rational  combina- 
tions may  emerge.  The  order  we  observe  in  things 
needs  explanation  only  on  the  supposition  of  a pre- 
liminary or  potential  disorder ; and  this  he  pointed 
out  is,  as  things  actually  are  orderly,  a gratuitous 
notion.  Anaxagoras,  who  introduced  into  philos- 


23 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  C875] 


opliy  the  notion  of  the  voug,  also  introduced  with  it 
that  of  an  antecedent  chaos.  But  if  there  be  no  es- 
sential chaos,  Mr.  Wright  used  to  say,  an  anti- 
chaotic  voug  is  superfluous.  He  particularly  con- 
demned the  idea  of  substance  as  a metaphysical 
idol.  When  it  was  objected  to  him  that  there  must 
be  some  principle  of  oneness  in  the  diversity  of 
phenomena — some  glue  to  hold  them  together  and 
make  a universe  out  of  their  mutual  independence, 
he  would  reply  that  there  is  no  need  of  a glue  to 
join  things  unless  we  apprehend  some  reason 
why  they  should  fall  asunder.  Phenomena  are 
grouped — more  we  cannot  say  of  them.  This  no- 
tion that  the  actuality  of  a thing  is  the  absolute 
totality  of  its  being  was  perhaps  never  grasped  by 
any  one  with  such  thoroughness  as  by  him. 

However  different  a philosophy  one  may  hold 
from  his,  however  one  may  deem  that  the  lack  of 
emotional  bias  which  left  him  contented  with  the 
mere  principle  of  parsimony  as  a criterion  of  uni- 
versal truth  was  really  due  to  a defect  in  the  active 
or  impulsive  part  of  his  mental  nature,  one  must 
value  none  the  less  his  formulae.  For  as  yet  philos- 
ophy has  celebrated  hardly  any  stable  achievements. 
The  labors  of  philosophers  have,  however,  been  con- 
fined to  deepening  enormously  the  philosophic 
consciousness , and  revealing  more  and  more  mi- 
nutely and  fully  the  import  of  metaphysical  prob- 
lems. In  this  preliminary  task  ontologists  and 
phenomenalists,  mechanists  and  teleologists,  must 
join  friendly  hands,  for  each  has  been  indispensable 


24 


[1875] 


CHAUNCEY  WEIGHT 


to  the  work  of  the  other,  and  the  only  foe  of 
either  is  the  common  foe  of  both — namely,  the 
practical,  conventionally  thinking  man,  to  whom, 
as  has  been  said,  nothing  has  true  seriousness  but 
personal  interests,  and  whose  dry  earnestness  in 
those  is  only  excelled  by  that  of  the  brute,  which 
takes  everything  for  granted  and  never  laughs. 

Mr.  Wright  belonged  to  the  precious  band  of  gen- 
uine philosophers,  and  among  them  few  can  have 
been  as  completely  disinterested  as  he.  Add  to  this 
eminence  his  tireless  amiability,  his  beautiful  mod- 
esty, his  affectionate  nature  and  freedom  from 
egotism,  his  childlike  simplicity  in  worldly  affairs, 
and  we  have  the  picture  of  a character  of  which  his 
friends  feel  more  than  ever  now  the  elevation  and 
the  rarity. 


25 


y 


BAIN  AND  RENOUVIER1 

[1876] 

Philosophy  and  psychology  are  such  difficult 
studies  that  most  of  us  may  be  said  to  read  in  the 
works  of  philosophers  rather  than  to  read  them. 
We  like,  as  it  were,  physically  to  rub  our  minds 
against  the  abstract  problems  in  their  pages;  we 
enjoy  the  glimpses  we  get  of  their  solution;  but  we 
grasp  nothing  but  the  concrete  illustrations  by  the 
way  and  the  explanations  of  details  the  author  may 
give  us.  Accordingly,  the  more  fertile  a philosopher 
is  in  these,  the  more  popular  he  will  become.  The 
two  philosophers  of  indubitably  the  widest  influ- 

[J  Review  of  The  Emotions  and  the  Will,  by  Alexander  Bain, 
third  edition,  New  York,  1876 ; and  Esswis  de  Critique  g6n6rale, 
by  Charles  Renouvier,  second  edition,  Paris,  1875.  Reprinted 
from  Nation,  1876,  22,  367-369.  Bain  was  born  in  1818  and 
died  in  1903.  James  and  Renouvier  were  for  many  years  con- 
nected by  bonds  of  friendship  and  mutual  admiration.  On 
James’s  part  this  admiration  continued  up  to  the  time  of  his 
death.  The  posthumous  Some  Problems  of  Philosophy  was 
dedicated  to  Renouvier  in  accordance  with  the  author’s  express 
wish,  James  having  left  on  record  the  following  statement  of 
his  indebtedness : “He  [Renouvier]  was  one  of  the  greatest  of 
philosophical  characters,  and  but  for  the  decisive  impression 
made  on  me  in  the  seventies  by  his  masterly  advocacy  of 
pluralism,  I might  never  have  got  free  from  the  monistic  super- 
stition under  which  I had  grown  up”  ( Some  Problems  of  Phi- 
losophy, p.  165,  note).  Cf.  also  ibid.,  p.  163;  Will  to  Believe, 
p.  143 ; and  below,  p.  98.  Renouvier  was  born  in  1815,  and  died 
in  full  intellectual  vigor  in  1903.  Ed.] 


26 


[1876] 


BAIN  AND  RENOUVIER 


ence  in  England  and  America  since  Mill’s  death  are 
Messrs.  Bain  and  Spencer,  who  have  little  in  com- 
mon except  the  tendency  to  explain  things  by  physi- 
cal reasons  as  much  as  possible,  and  this  abundance 
of  illustrative  fact;  whilst  Mr.  Hodgson,  a writer 
in  our  opinion  vastly  more  thorough  and  original 
than  either,  is  unread  and  unknown  because  in  his 
books  the  concatenation  of  the  thoughts  is  every- 
thing, and  the  illustrative  instances  subordinate. 
The  thoroughness  of  the  descriptive  part  of  Bain’s 
treatises,  and  the  truly  admirable  sagacity  of  many 
of  the  psychological  analyses  and  reductions  they 
contain,  has  made  them  deservedly  classical.  It 
seems  hardly  worth  while  to  devote  our  space  to 
giving  an  account  of  the  third  edition  of  one  of 
them,  for  every  one  interested  in  psychology  must 
read  the  originals  themselves.  We  propose,  there- 
fore, merely  to  use  Mr.  Bain  for  the  purpose  of  giv- 
ing greater  relief  to  the  merits  of  a French  philos- 
opher, Renouvier,  who  seems  as  yet  unknown  to 
English  readers,  but  who  has  given  to  the  philos- 
ophy which  Bain  represents  a form  in  our  opinion 
far  more  clear,  perfect,  and  consistent  than  has 
been  attained  by  any  English  writer. 

For  Bain  is  not  only  a psychologist  proper,  does 
not  merely  describe  mental  facts  as  items  in  the 
inventory  of  nature,  but  also  speculates  about  na- 
ture as  a whole.  The  fault  we  find  in  him  in  this 
capacity  is  his  fragmentariness  and  consequent  in- 
consistency. Fragmentariness — the  willingness  to 
settle  only  so  much  of  a subject  at  a time  as  is 


27 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  KEVIEWS  i1876i 


practically  needful — has  become  such  a tradition  in 
the  history  of  the  British  mind,  that  philosophers 
who,  like  Spencer,  are  thoroughly  systematic  and 
constructive  in  their  form,  are  viewed  with  sus- 
picion and  dislike  on  that  very  account  by  many 
minds  of  Anglo-Saxon  type.  This  is  surely  a 
vicious  extreme,  for  the  very  impulse  to  which 
philosophies  owe  their  being  is  the  craving  for  a 
consistent  completeness;  and  every  powerful  at- 
tempt to  rear  a thorough  system  of  thought  has  an 
intellectual  style  about  it  which  is,  aesthetically 
considered,  to  say  the  least,  far  nobler  than  the 
slouchy  dumping  of  materials  to  which  Mr.  Bain 
treats  us. 

The  most  important  of  these  fragmentary  British 
contributions  to  philosophy  are  the  criticisms  and 
negations  called  nominalism  and  nihilism.  To- 
gether they  form  the  positivism,  empiricism,  or 
phenomenalism  which  within  a certain  sphere  are 
so  congenial  to  the  Anglo-Saxon  mind.  They  assert 
that  nothing  has  reality  except  actual  particular 
facts.  Such  noumenal  substances  as  matter,  nature, 
power,  are  admitted  alike  by  metaphysics  and  by 
popular  philosophy  or  common  sense ; but  criticism 
scrutinizes  them  only  to  proclaim  that  they  are  ab- 
solutely void  of  meaning  except  as  names  descrip- 
tive of  particular  phenomena.  Describe  these  com- 
pletely, and  you  have  named  all  there  is.  If  the 
particulars  will  happen  just  so  each  time,  the  as- 
sumption of  a “substance”  to  produce  them  is  mere 
image-worship — a fifth  wheel  to  a coach.  Accord- 


28 


[1S76] 


BAIN  AND  RENOUVIER 


ingly,  the  school  of  Mill  and  Bain  regard  the  world 
as  a mere  sum  of  separate  phenomena  or  representa- 
tions which  habitually  group  themselves  into  cer- 
tain orders,  with  which  we  grow  more  or  less 
familiar,  and  which  consequently  seem  more  or  less 
rational  and  necessary.  To  account  for  the  par- 
ticular habits  of  grouping,  or  ‘daws”  of  nature 
and  of  mind,  is  on  this  theory  the  next  problem. 
The  English  school  has  always  tried  more  or  less  to 
evade  this  part  of  the  subject,  and,  reducing  the 
principles  of  grouping  to  as  small  a number  as  pos- 
sible {e.g.,  space  and  causality  to  time),  it  has 
treated  what  remained  in  a hazy  sort  of  manner,  as 
not  worthy  of  much  attention  anyhow.  M.  Renou- 
vier’s  polemic  against  the  metaphysical  notions  of 
Substance,  of  Infinite  in  existence,  and  of  abstract 
ideas  seems  to  us  more  powerful  than  anything 
which  has  been  written  in  English;  but  he  differs 
from  his  English  allies  in  giving  as  great  an  empha- 
sis to  the  laws  of  grouping  as  to  the  phenomena 
grouped.  The  laws  are  for  him  equally  with  the 
phenomena  absolute  and  distinct.  In  fact,  a “phe- 
nomenon” apart  from  its  group,  law,  or  function 
is  an  inconceivable  nonentity. 

But  his  great  point  of  divergence  from  Bain  and 
Mill  lies  in  his  treatment  of  the  problem  of  Free- 
dom, and  here,  it  seems  to  us,  is  shown  the  advan- 
tage of  a systematically-thought  philosophy  over 
one  fragmentarily  fed  from  heterogeneous  sources. 
We  have  no  space  to  discuss  the  sources  of  the  Eng- 
lish prejudice  in  favor  of  psychical  determinism. 


29 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0876] 


Every  reader  of  Mill’s  Autobiography  will  remem- 
ber the  striking  passage  in  which  he  narrates  the 
hypochondria  which  this  doctrine  produced  in  his 
youthful  mind.  It  is  the  strongest  proof  of  the  es- 
sentially pious  character  of  that  mind  that  this  in- 
herited belief  was  clung  to  in  spite  of  its  not  being 
logically  called  for  by  the  rest  of  Mill’s  philosophic 
creed.  For  if  any  man  may  believe  in  free-will  it  is 
surely  one  who  repudiates  the  notion  of  an  infinite 
pre-existing  substance  from  which  “the  remediless 
flux  of  existence”  proceeds,  and  who  denies  that 
there  is  any  real  coerciveness  in  the  relation  of  cause 
to  effect.  Both  these  denials  were  Mill’s.  M.  Re- 
nouvier  most  justly  insists  that  the  only  logical 
enemy  of  free-will  is  the  doctrine  of  Substance  or 
Pantheism.  Spencer,  for  example,  with  his  “Un- 
knowable,” is  bound  in  honor  to  oppose  it;  but  the 
opposition  of  Bain,  who  seems  to  hold  to  the  ulti- 
mate distinctness  of  each  phenomenon,  and  with 
the  ultimate  inexplicability  of  their  order  of  suc- 
cession, can  only  be  regarded  as  a caprice. 

Renouvier  at  a stroke  clears  the  question  of  a 
cloud  of  quibbles  by  stating  it  in  simple  phenomenal 
terms.  For  him  it  is  merely  a question  as  to  the 
ambiguity  of  certain  futures,  those  human  acts, 
namely,  which  are  preceded  by  deliberation.  What 
are  the  phenomena  here?  A representation  arises 
in  a mind,  but  ere  it  can  discharge  itself  into  a train 
of  action,  it  is  inhibited  by  another  which  confronts 
it.  This,  on  the  point  of  discharging  itself,  is  again 
checked  by  the  first,  which  returns  with  a reinforced 


30 


[1876] 


BAIN  AND  RENOITVIER 


intensity,  and  so  for  a time  tlie  pendulum  swings  to 
and  fro,  till  finally  one  or  the  other  representation 
recurs  with  such  a degree  of  reinforcement  that  the 
tumult  ceases,  and  an  act,  a decision  for  the  future, 
or  the  arrest  of  a passionate  impulse  takes  place. 
This  stable  survival  of  one  representation  is  called  a 
volition.  The  whole  question  of  its  predetermina- 
tion relates  to  the  intensity  of  the  degree  of  re- 
inforcement with  which  the  triumphant  representa- 
tion recurs.  As  a matter  of  fact,  in  critical  cases 
(which  are  the  only  cases  bearing  on  the  question) 
this  intensity  is  utterly  unknown  beforehand.  Is  it 
potentially  and  essentially  a knowable  quantity? 
If  not , our  acts  are  in  certain  cases  original  com- 
mencements of  series  of  phenomena,  whose  realiza- 
tion excludes  other  series  which  were  previously 
possible.  If  so,  they  form  part  of  an  adamantine 
and  eternal  uniformity.  But  who  shall  decide?  The 
argumentation  of  Bain  that  as  a matter  of  fact  men 
always  do  expect  each  other  to  act  with  predictable 
uniformity  is — sit  venia  verbo — rubbish.  It  could 
never  be  urged  by  one  who  was  not  already  on  other 
grounds  prejudiced  in  favor  of  determinism.  In  one 
of  his  earliest  works,  Helmholtz,  who  as  well  as  any 
living  man  may  claim  to  give  voice  to  the  scientific 
spirit,  says  that  when  the  proximate  causes  of 
phenomena  are  alterable  themselves,  we  must  seek 
further  for  a cause  of  their  alteration,  and  so  on  till 
we  reach  an  unalterable  principle. 

“Now,  whether  [he  continues],  all  events  are  to  be 
carried  back  to  such  causes,  whether  nature  be  fully 


31 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  DS76] 


explicable,  or  whether  changes  occur  in  it  which  do 
not  fall  under  the  law  of  necessary  causality,  and  do 
consequently  belong  to  the  realm  of  freedom  or  spon- 
taneity, cannot  now  be  decided.  It  is,  at  all  events,  clear 
that  a science  whose  object  it  is  to  understand  nature 
must  start  with  the  assumption  of  her  intelligibility, 
and  conclude  and  enquire  according  to  this  assumption 
until  it  at  last  is  forced  by  irrefutable  facts  to  the  ad- 
mission of  its  own  limitations.” 

The  “assumption”  of  a fixed  law  in  natural 
science  is  thus,  according  to  this  authority,  an  in- 
tellectual postulate , just  as  the  assumption  of  an 
ultimate  law  of  indetermination  might  be  a moral 
postulate  in  treating  of  certain  human  delibera- 
tions. Is  each  assumption  true  in  its  sphere,  or  is 
determinism  universal?  Since  no  man  can  decide 
empirically,  must  one  remain  for  ever  uncertain, 
or  shall  one  anticipate  evidence  and  boldly  choose 
one’s  side?  Apart  from  the  fact  that  doubt  is  prac- 
tically impossible  in  certain  cases  which  touch  the 
conduct  of  life,  doubt  itself  is  an  active  state,  one  of 
voluntary  inhibition  or  suspense.  So  that  which- 
ever plan  one  adopts,  one’s  state  is  the  result  of 
other  facts  than  pure  receptivity  of  intelligence. 
The  entire  nature  of  the  man,  intellectual,  affective, 
and  volitional,  is  (whether  avowedly  or  not)  ex- 
hibited in  the  theoretic  attitude  he  takes  in  such  a 
question  as  this.  And  this  leads  M.  Renouvier  to  a 
most  vigorous  and  original  discussion  of  the  ulti- 
mate grounds  of  certitude,  of  belief  in  general,  from 
which  he  returns  to  make  his  decision  about  this 
particular  point.  All  yard-stick  criteria  of  certi- 

32 


[1876] 


BAIN  AND  RENOUVIER 


tude  have  failed.  Mr.  Spencer’s  “inconceivability 
of  the  opposite”  breaks  down  from  the  practical  im- 
possibility of  unanimity  in  any  given  case.  When 
the  Philosopher  of  Evolution  says  we  ought  to  find 
the  opposite  of  his  First  Principles  inconceivable 
and  dubs  us  “pseudo”  thinkers  if  we  do  not,  he 
simply  begs  the  question  and  appeals  to  the  author- 
ity of  his  personal  insight  as  against  ours.  Now, 
says  Renouvier,  such  an  appeal  is  at  bottom 
inevitable  so  soon  as  we  leave  the  narrow  standing- 
point  of  the  present  moment  in  consciousness 
(Pyrrhonism).  This  latter  alone  is  the  aliquid 
inconcussum  philosophers  have  sought;  but  it  is 
barren.  Beyond  it  everywhere  is  doubt. 

“The  radical  sign  of  will,  the  essential  mark  of  that 
achieved  development  which  makes  man  capable  of  spec- 
ulating on  all  things  and  raises  him  to  his  dignity  of 
an  independent  and  autonomous  being,  is  the  possibility 
of  doubt.  . . . The  ignorant  man  doubts  little,  the  fool 
still  less,  the  madman  not  at  all.  . . . Certitude  is  not 
and  cannot  be  an  absolute  condition.  It  is,  what  is  too 
often  forgotten,  a state  and  an  act  of  man  ...  a state 
in  which  he  posits  his  consciousness,  such  as  it  is,  and 
stands  by  it.  Properly  speaking,  there  is  no  certitude ; 
all  there  is  is  men  who  are  certain.  . . . Certitude  is 
thus  nothing  but  belief  ...  a moral  attitude.” 

Thus  in  every  wide  theoretical  conclusion  we 
must  seem  more  or  less  arbitrarily  to  choose  our 
side.  Of  course  the  choice  may  at  bottom  be  pre- 
determined in  each  case,  but  also  it  may  not.  This 
brings  us  back  to  our  theoretical  dilemma  about 


33 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0876] 


freedom,  concerning  which  we  must  now  how  to  the 
necessity  of  making  a choice;  for  suspense  itself 
would  be  a choice,  and  a most  practical  one,  since 
by  it  we  should  forfeit  the  possible  benefits  of  boldly 
espousing  a possible  truth.  If  this  be  a moral  world, 
there  are  cases  in  which  any  indecision  about  its 
being  so  must  be  death  to  the  soul.  Now,  if  our 
choice  is  predetermined,  there  is  an  end  of  the  mat- 
ter; whether  predetermined  to  the  truth  of  fatality 
or  the  delusion  of  liberty,  is  all  one  for  us.  But  if 
our  choice  is  truly  free,  then  the  only  possible  way 
of  getting  at  that  truth  is  by  the  exercise  of  the  free- 
dom which  it  implies.  Here  the  act  of  belief  and 
the  object  of  belief  coalesce,  and  the  very  essential 
logic  of  the  situation  demands  that  we  wait  not  for 
any  outward  sign,  but,  with  the  possibility  of  doubt- 
ing open  to  us,  voluntarily  take  the  alternative  of 
faith.  Renouvier  boldly  avows  the  full  conditions 
under  which  alone  we  can  be  right  if  freedom  is 
true,  and  says:  “Let  our  liberty  pronounce  on  its 
own  real  existence.”  It  and  necessity  being  alike 
indemonstrable  by  any  quasi-material  process,  must 
be  postulated  if  taken  at  all. 

“I  prefer  to  affirm  my  liberty  and  to  affirm  it  by 
means  of  my  liberty.  . . . My  moral  and  practical  certi- 
tude begins  logically  by  the  certitude  of  my  freedom, 
just  as  practically  my  freedom  has  always  had  to  inter- 
vene in  the  constitution  of  my  speculative  certitude.” 

Others  need  not  decide  in  the  same  way,  but  let 
them  confess,  if  their  way  is  determinism,  that  un- 


34 


[1876] 


BAIN  AND  RENOUVIER 


less  they  deduce  it  a priori  from  the  existence  of  a 
metaphysical  substance,  they  choose  it  just  as  our 
author  chooses  his  way,  because  on  the  whole  they 
prefer  it.  This  fact  is  usually  unconsciously  smug- 
gled out  of  sight;  but,  concealed  or  expressed,  it 
debars  either  side  from  protesting  on  grounds  of 
logical  method,  or  form  of  procedure,  against  the 
other.  The  protest  must  come  from  extra-logical 
considerations;  and  the  ultimate  decision  of  which 
side  is  right  and  which  wrong  shall  only  be  reached 
ambulando  or  at  the  final  integration  of  things,  if  at 
all.  Of  course,  freedom  thus  carried  into  the  very 
heart  of  our  theoretic  activity  becomes  the  corner- 
stone of  our  author’s  philosophy,  and  by  its  use  he 
thinks  “the  minimum  of  faith  produces  the  maxi- 
mum of  result.” 


35 


VI 


RENAN’S  “DIALOGUES”1 

[1876] 

“Encore  une  6toile  qui  file ; 

File,  file,  et  disparait!” 

This  last  production  of  a writer  who  at  one  time 
seemed,  to  say  the  least,  the  most  exquisite  literary 
genius  of  France,  is  really  sad  reading  for  any  one 
who  would  gladly  be  assured  that  that  country  is 
robust  and  fertile  still.  It  seems  to  us  no  less  than 
an  example  of  mental  ruin — the  last  expression  of 
a nature  in  which  the  seeds  of  insincerity  and 
foppishness,  which  existed  at  the  start  alongside  of 
splendid  powers,  have  grown  up  like  rank  weeds 
and  smothered  the  better  possibilities.  The  dia- 
logues which  form  the  only  new  part  of  the  book 
are  simply  priggishness  rampant,  an  indescribable 
unmanliness  of  tone  compounded  of  a sort  of  his- 
trionically sentimental  self-conceit,  and  a nerveless 
and  boneless  fear  of  what  will  become  of  the  uni- 
verse if  “l’liomme  vulgaire”  is  allowed  to  go  on.  M. 
Renan’s  idea  of  God  seems  to  be  that  of  a power  to 
whom  one  may  successfully  go  like  a tell-tale  child 
and  say : “Please,  won’t  you  make  ‘1’homme  vul- 

P Review  of  Dialogues  et  Fragments  Philosophiques,  by 
Ernest  Renan,  Paris,  1876.  Reprinted  with  omissions  from 
Nation,  1S76,  23,  78-79.  Ed.] 


36 


[1876] 


RENAN’S  “DIALOGUES” 


gaire’  stop?”  As  the  latter  waxes  every  day  more 
fat  and  insolent,  the  belief  in  God  burns  dim,  and 
is  replaced  by  the  idea  of  a kind  of  cold-blooded  des- 
tiny whose  inscrutable  and  inhuman  purposes  we 
are  blindly  serving,  with  at  most  the  relief  of  mak- 
ing piquant  guesses  and  epigrams  as  we  go,  about 
our  Master  and  ourselves. 

The  other  papers  in  the  volume  show  the  same 
qualities  and  defects — sweetness  of  diction  and 
delicacy  of  apprehension  in  detail,  with  vagueness, 
pretension,  and  deep  ignorance  of  the  subject 
where  the  subject  is  the  history  of  philosophic 
thought.  The  best  excuse  one  can  make  for  them  is 
that  they  are  but  half  sincere.  But,  in  a writer  of 
Renan’s  peculiar  pretensions,  that  is  a fatal  excuse. 
In  his  earlier  writings  all  the  suavities  and  many 
of  the  severities  of  language  were  employed  in 
painting  the  distinction  between  the  “ame  d’elite,” 
the  “esprit  honnete,”  and  the  common  man;  how 
the  latter  was  wedded  to  superficiality  and  pas- 
sive enjoyment,  whilst  the  former  found  austere 
“joys  of  the  soul”  in  the  pursuit  of  wisdom 
and  virtue.  These  surely  imply  sincerity.  The 
gifted  writer  particularly  congratulated  himself 
on  having  preserved  the  vigor  of  his  soul  “dans 
un  pays  6teint,  en  un  siecle  sans  esperance.  . . . 
Consolons  nous,”  he  cried,  “par  nos  chimeres,  par 
notre  noblesse,  par  notre  dedain !”  “The  true  atheist 
is  the  frivolous  man”  is  one  of  his  early  phrases 
which  has  been  often  quoted.  But  already  in  his 


37 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  D8T6] 


Antichrist , published  after  the  Commune,  he  spoke 
of  the  summit  of  wisdom  being  the  persuasion  that 
at  bottom  all  is  vanity;  and  if  this  book  be  really 
half  trifling,  he  would  seem  practically  to  have 
espoused  that  persuasion — in  other  words,  to  have 
become  a frivolous  man,  or,  according  to  his  own 
definition,  an  atheist.  Indeed,  if  one  were  to  seek 
a single  phrase  which  should  define  the  essence  of 
religion,  it  would  be  the  phrase:  all  is  not  vanity. 
The  solace  and  anaesthetic  which  lies  in  the  conclu- 
sion of  Ecclesiastes  is  good  for  many  of  us ; but  M. 
Renan’s  ostentatious  pretension  to  an  exquisite  sort 
of  religious  virtue  has  debarred  him  from  the  right 
to  enjoy  its  comforts.  That  esprit  vulgaire , Josh 
Billings,  says  that  if  you  have  $80,000  at  interest, 
and  own  the  house  you  live  in,  it  is  not  much  trouble 
to  be  a philosopher.  M.  Renan,  after  parading  be- 
fore our  envious  eyes  in  fine  weather  the  spectacle 
of  a man  savour er- ing  his  dedain  and  enjoying  the 
exquisitely  voluptuous  sensation  of  tasting  his  own 
spiritual  pre-eminence,  must  not  take  it  hard  if  we 
insist  on  a little  more  courage  in  him  when  the  wind 
begins  to  blow.  We  do  not  know  any  better  than  he 
what  the  Democratic  religion  which  is  invading  the 
Western  world  has  in  store  for  us.  We  dislike  the 
“Commune”  as  well  as  he ; but  it  is  a fair  presump- 
tion that  the  cards  of  humanity  have  not  all  been 
played  out.  And  meanwhile,  since  no  one  has  any 
authoritative  information  about  the  final  upshot  of 
things,  and  yet,  since  all  men  have  a mighty  desire 
to  get  on  if  they  can,  it  cannot  be  too  often  repeated 


38 


[1876] 


RENAN’S  “DIALOGUES” 


that  they  will  all  use  the  practical  standard  in 
measuring  the  excellence  of  their  brother  men : not 
the  man  of  the  most  delicate  sensibility  but  he  who 
on  the  whole  is  the  most  helpful  man  will  be  reck- 
oned the  best  man.  The  political  or  spiritual  hero 
will  always  be  the  one  who,  when  others  crumbled, 
stood  firm  till  a new  order  built  itself  around  him ; 
who  showed  a way  out  and  beyond  where  others 
could  only  see  written  “no  thoroughfare.”  M. 
Renan’s  dandified  despair  has  nothing  in  common 
with  this  type. 


39 


VII 


LEWES’S  “PHYSICAL  BASIS  OF  MIND”1 

[1877] 

Those  readers  whom  the  superiority  of  the  sec- 
ond volume  of  Mr.  Lewes’s  Problems  over  the  first 
has  led  to  expect  an  even  crescendo  of  excellence  in 
that  ponderous  and  somewhat  pretentious  publica- 
tion, will  be  much  disappointed  after  reading  this 
third  instalment.  The  diffuseness  and  damnable 
iteration  are  there  as  much  as  ever,  but  the  new 
truths  hang  fire  and  fail  to  appear.  It  seems  in- 
deed as  if  the  author  had  started  to  write  rather 
with  a vague  aspiration  after  some  truth  than  a 
distinct  apprehension  of  any,  and  were  letting  his 
pen  run  on  in  the  persuasion  that  a great  discovery 
would  surely  trickle  out  of  it,  if  only  the  scythe  of 
Chronos  might  not  cut  him  short.  This  is  truly  an 
excellent  way  of  making  discoveries,  but  usually  it 
is  the  discovery  that  we  publish,  while  the  process 
is  suppressed.  Mr.  Lewes  has  given  us  the  process 
in  five  hundred  pages,  and — let  us  charitably  say — 
reserved  the  discovery  for  the  next  volume.  Con- 
stantly he  seems  on  the  point  of  making  it.  An  un- 

[‘  Opening  paragraph  of  a review  of  G.  H.  Lewes’s  Physical 
Basis  of  Mind.,  1877,  the  sequel  to  the  book  reviewed  above, 
p.  4.  Reprinted  with  omissions  from  Nation,  1877,  25,  290. 
Ed.] 


40 


[1877]  LEWES’S  “BASIS  OF  MIND” 


impeachable  scaffolding  of  first  principles  is  laid 
down,  the  arguments  seem  to  mass  together  like 
thunder-clouds,  the  air  quivers  with  expectation, 
and  we  are  sure  that  on  turning  the  page  the  sacred 
rain  will  descend  on  our  patient  and  thirsty  souls, 
when  lo ! a new  chapter  begins  with  a new  statement 
of  the  first  principles,  adorned  with  fresh  illustra- 
tions: we  forget  the  event  we  felt  ourselves  led  up 
to,  the  sky  empties  itself  again,  and  we  return  to 
our  original  drought.  Not  that  the  first  principles 
of  Mr.  Lewes  are  not  admirable.  They  surely  are. 
But  the  mind  can  no  more  feed  on  pure  first  prin- 
ciples than  the  body  can  live  on  pure  nitrogen  and 
carbon.  Only  the  axiomata  media  are  fertile,  and 
lead  to  particular  discoveries.  It  is  a bad  sign  when 
a thinker  keeps  falling  back  on  abstractions  so  true 
that  all  must  applaud  them,  but  so  broad  that  they 
form  quite  as  good  a shelter  for  one  doctrine  as  for 
another.  What  boots  it  when  we  are  really  curious 
to  find  some  one  elementary  factor  or  law  of  living 
matter  to  be  told  that  “Life  is  the  connexus  of  func- 
tions”? Or  if  a psychologist  is  really  puzzling  his 
brain  about  very  special  and  particular  difficulties, 
how  can  it  profit  him  to  be  elaborately  reminded  by 
Mr.  Lewes  that  confusion  of  terms  is  a great  source 
of  error,  that  we  should  everywhere  keep  account 
of  special  differences  no  less  than  fundamental 
identities,  that  property  must  never  be  confounded 
with  function,  that  sensibility  makes  life  a phe- 
nomenon of  a higher  order  than  mechanism,  and 
the  like?  Not,  indeed,  since  reading  Daniel  De- 


ll 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0877] 


ronda  have  we  been  so  annoyed  by  a writer’s  redun- 
dancy, have  we  found  ourselves  so  persistently 
seized  by  the  button  and  moralized  to  when  we  were 
most  impatient  for  the  story  to  move  along  and  for 
the  author  to  effect  something  with  his  materials. 


42 


VIII 


REMARKS  ON  SPENCER’S  DEFINITION 
OF  MIND  AS  CORRESPONDENCE1 

[1878] 

As  a rule  it  may  be  said  that,  at  a time  when 
readers  are  so  overwhelmed  with  work  as  they  are 
at  the  present  day,  all  purely  critical  and  destruc- 
tive writing  ought  to  be  reprobated.  The  half-gods 
generally  refuse  to  go,  in  spite  of  the  ablest  criti- 
cism, until  the  gods  actually  have  arrived ; but  then, 
too,  criticism  is  hardly  needed.  But  there  are  cases 
in  which  every  rule  may  be  broken.  “What!”  ex- 
claimed Voltaire,  when  accused  of  offering  no  sub- 
stitute for  the  Christianity  he  attacked,  “je  vous 
delivre  d’une  6 ete  feroce,  et  vous  me  demanded  par 
qaoi  je  la  remplace!”  Without  comparing  Mr. 
Spencer’s  definition  of  Mind  either  to  Christianity 
or  to  a “h ete  feroce it  may  certainly  be  said  to  be 
very  far-reaching  in  its  consequences,  and,  accord- 

C1  Reprinted  from  Journal  of  Speculative  Philosophy,  1878,  12, 
1-18.  The  central  idea  of  this  essay  is  the  teleological  char- 
acter of  mind.  This  idea  may  be  said  to  be  the  germinal  idea 
of  James’s  psychology,  epistemology,  and  philosophy  of  religion. 
Cf.  Will  to  Believe,  p.  117  (“Reflex  Action  and  Theism”),  where 
this  essay  is  referred  to,  with  the  remark  that  “the  conceiving 
or  theorizing  faculty  . . . functions  exclusively  for  the  sake  of 
ends  that  . . . are  set  by  our  emotional  and  practical  subjec- 
tivity.” Ed.] 


43 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  118781 


ing  to  certain  standards,  noxious;  whilst  probably 
a large  proportion  of  those  hard-headed  readers  who 
subscribe  to  the  Popular  Science  Monthly  and 
Nature,  and  whose  sole  philosopher  Mr.  Spencer  is, 
are  fascinated  by  it  without  being  in  the  least  aware 
what  its  consequences  are. 

The  defects  of  the  formula  are  so  glaring  that  I 
am  surprised  it  should  not  long  ago  have  been 
critically  overhauled.  The  reader  will  readily 
recollect  what  it  is.  In  part  III  of  his  Principles 
of  Psychology, 1 Mr.  Spencer,  starting  from  the  sup- 
position that  the  most  essential  truth  concerning 
mental  evolution  will  be  that  which  allies  it  to  the 
evolution  nearest  akin  to  it,  namely,  that  of  Life, 
finds  that  the  formula  “ adjustment  of  inner  to 
outer  relations,”  which  was  the  definition  of  life, 
comprehends  also  “the  entire  process  of  mental 
evolution.”  In  a series  of  chapters  of  great  appar- 
ent thoroughness  and  minuteness  he  shows  how  all 
the  different  grades  of  mental  perfection  are  ex- 
pressed by  the  degree  of  extension  of  this  adjust- 
ment, or,  as  he  here  calls  it,  “correspondence,”  in 
space,  time,  specialty,  generality,  and  integration. 
The  polyp’s  tentacles  contract  only  to  immediately 
present  stimuli,  and  to  almost  all  alike.  The  mam- 
mal will  store  up  food  for  a day,  or  even  for  a sea- 
son ; the  bird  will  start  on  its  migration  for  a goal 
hundreds  of  miles  away;  the  savage  will  sharpen 
his  arrows  to  hunt  next  year’s  game;  while  the  as- 
tronomer will  proceed,  equipped  with  all  his  instru- 
P Published  in  1855.  Ed.] 

44 


[1878]  SPENCER’S  DEFINITION  OF  MIND 


ments,  to  a point  thousands  of  miles  distant,  there 
to  watch,  at  a fixed  day,  hour,  and  minute,  a transit 
of  Venus  or  an  eclipse  of  the  Sun. 

The  picture  drawn  is  so  vast  and  simple,  it  in- 
cludes such  a multitude  of  details  in  its  monotonous 
frame-work,  that  it  is  no  wonder  that  readers  of  a 
passive  turn  of  mind  are,  usually,  more  impressed 
by  it  than  by  any  portion  of  the  book.  But  on  the 
slightest  scrutiny  its  solidity  begins  to  disappear. 

In  the  first  place,  one  asks,  what  right  has  one,  in  a * 
formula  embracing  professedly  the  “entire  process 
of  mental  evolution,”  to  mention  only  phenomena  of 
cognition,  and  to  omit  all  sentiments,  all  aesthetic 
impulses,  all  religious  emotions  and  personal  affec- 
tions? The  ascertainment  of  outward  fact  consti-  ‘ 
tutes  only  one  species  of  mental  activity.  The  genus  • 
contains,  in  addition  to  purely  cognitive  judg- 
ments, or  judgments  of  the  actual — judgments  that 
things  do,  as  a matter  of  fact,  exist  so  or  so — an 
immense  number  of  emotional  judgments:  judg- 
ments of  the  ideal,  judgments  that  things  should 
exist  thus  and  not  so.  How  much  of  our  mental  • 
life  is  occupied  with  this  matter  of  a better  or  a 
worse?  How  much  of  it  involves  preferences  or  - 
repugnances  on  our  part?  We  cannot  laugh  at  a / 
joke,  we  cannot  go  to  one  theatre  rather  than  an- 
other, take  more  trouble  for  the  sake  of  our  own 
child  than  our  neighbor’s ; we  cannot  long  for  vaca- 
tion, show  our  best  manners  to  a foreigner,  or  pay 
our  pew  rent,  without  involving  in  the  premises  of 
our  action  some  element  which  has  nothing  what- 


45 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0878] 


ever  to  do  with  simply  cognizing  the  actual,  hut 
which,  out  of  alternative  possible  actuals,  selects 
one  and  cognizes  that  as  the  ideal.  In  a word, 
“Mind,”  as  we  actually  find  it,  contains  all  sorts 
of  laws — those  of  logic,  of  fancy,  of  wit,  of  taste, 
decorum,  beauty,  morals,  and  so  forth,  as  well  as 
of  perception  of  fact.  Common  sense  estimates 
mental  excellence  by  a combination  of  all  these 
standards,  and  yet  how  few  of  them  correspond  to 
anything  that  actually  is — they  are  laws  of  the 
Ideal,  dictated  by  subjective  interests  pure  and 
simple.  Thus  the  greater  part  of  Mind,  quantita- 
tively considered,  refuses  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  Mr.  Spencer’s  definition.  It  is  quite  true  that 
these  ideal  judgments  are  treated  by  him  with  great 
ingenuity  and  felicity  at  the  close  of  his  work — 
indeed,  his  treatment  of  them  there  seems  to  me  to 
be  its  most  admirable  portion.  But  they  are  there 
handled  as  separate  items  having  no  connection 
with  that  extension  of  the  “correspondence”  which 
is  maintained  elsewhere  to  be  the  all-sufficing  law 
of  mental  growth. 

Most  readers  would  dislike  to  admit  without  co- 
ercion that  a law  was  adequate  which  obliged  them 
to  erase  from  literature  (if  by  literature  were 
meant  anything  worthy  of  the  title  of  “mental 
product”)  all  works  except  treatises  on  natural 
science,  history,  and  statistics.  Let  us  examine  the 
reason  that  Mr.  Spencer  appears  to  consider  co- 
ercive. 

It  is  this : That,  since  every  process  grows  more 

46 


[3.878]  SPENCER’S  DEFINITION  OF  MIND 


and  more  complicated  as  it  develops,  more  swarmed 
over  by  incidental  and  derivative  conditions  which 
disguise  and  adulterate  its  original  simplicity,  the 
only  way  to  discover  its  true  and  essential  form  is 
to  trace  it  back  to  its  earliest  beginning.  There  it 
will  appear  in  its  genuine  character  pure  and  un- 
defiled. Religious,  sesthetic,  and  ethical  judgments, 
having  grown  up  in  the  course  of  evolution,  by 
means  that  we  can  very  plausibly  divine,  of  course 
may  be  stripped  off  from  the  main  stem  of  intelli- 
gence and  leave  that  undisturbed.  With  a similar 
intent  Mr.  Tylor  says : “Whatever  throws  light  on 
the  origin  of  a conception  throws  light  on  its 
validity.”  Thus,  then,  there  is  no  resource  but  to 
appeal  to  the  polyp,  or  whatever  shows  us  the  form 
of  evolution  just  before  intelligence,  and  what  that, 
and  only  what  that,  contains  will  be  the  root  and 
heart  of  the  matter. 

But  no  sooner  is  the  reason  for  the  law  thus  enun- 
ciated than  many  objections  occur  to  the  reader.  In 
the  first  place,  the  general  principle  seems  to  lead 
to  absurd  conclusions.  If  the  embryologic  line  of 
appeal  can  alone  teach  us  the  genuine  essences  of 
things,  if  the  polyp  is  to  dictate  our  law  of  mind  to 
us  because  he  came  first,  where  are  we  to  stop?  He 
must  himself  be  treated  in  the  same  way.  Back  of 
him  lay  the  not-yet-polyp,  and,  back  of  all,  the  uni- 
versal mother,  fire-mist.  To  seek  there  for  the 
reality,  of  course  would  reduce  all  thinking  to 
nonentity,  and,  although  Mr.  Spencer  would  prob- 
ably not  regard  this  conclusion  as  a redaictio  ad 


47 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1878] 


absurdum  of  his  principle,  since  it  would  only  be 
another  path  to  his  theory  of  the  Unknowable,  less 
systematic  thinkers  may  hesitate.  But,  waiving  for 
the  moment  the  question  of  principle,  let  us  admit 
that  relatively  to  our  thought,  at  any  rate,  the 
polyp’s  thought  is  pure  and  undefiled.  Does  the 
study  of  the  polyp  lead  us  distinctly  to  Mr.  Spen- 
cer’s formula  of  correspondence?  To  begin  with,  if 
that  formula  be  meant  to  include  disinterested 
scientific  curiosity,  or  “correspondence”  in  the 
sense  of  cognition,  with  no  ulterior  selfish  end,  the 
polyp  gives  it  no  countenance  whatever.  He  is  as 
innocent  of  scientific  as  of  moral  and  aesthetic  en- 
thusiasm; he  is  the  most  narrowly  teleological  of 
organisms ; reacting,  so  far  as  he  reacts  at  all,  only 
for  self-preservation. 

This  leads  us  to  ask  what  Mr.  Spencer  exactly 
means  by  the  word  correspondence.  Without  ex- 
planation, the  word  is  wholly  indeterminate.  Ev- 
erything corresponds  in  some  way  with  everything 
else  that  co-exists  in  the  same  world  with  it.  But, 
as  the  formula  of  correspondence  was  originally 
derived  from  biology,  we  shall  possibly  find  in  our 
author’s  treatise  on  that  science  an  exact  definition 
of  what  he  means  by  it.  On  seeking  there,  we  find 
nowhere  a definition,  but  numbers  of  synonyms. 
The  inner  relations  are  “adjusted,”  “conformed,” 
“fitted,”  “related,”  to  the  outer.  They  must  “meet” 
or  “balance”  them.  There  must  be  “concord”  or 
“harmony”  between  them.  Or,  again,  the  organism 
must  “counteract”  the  changes  in  the  environment. 


48 


[1878]  SPENCER’S  DEFINITION  OF  MIND 


But  these  words,  too,  are  wholly  indeterminate. 
The  fox  is  most  beautifully  “adjusted”  to  the 
hounds  and  huntsmen  who  pursue  him;  the  lime- 
stone “meets”  molecule  by  molecule  the  acid  which 
corrodes  it;  the  man  is  exquisitely  “conformed”  to 
the  trichina  which  invades  him,  or  to  the  typhus 
poison  which  consumes  him ; and  the  forests  “har- 
monize” incomparably  with  the  fires  that  lay  them 
low.  Clearly,  a further  specification  is  required; 
and,  although  Mr.  Spencer  shrinks  strangely  from 
enunciating  this  specification,  he  everywhere  works 
his  formula  so  as  to  imply  it  in  the  clearest  manner. 

Influence  on  physical  well-being  or  survival  is  * 
his  implied  criterion  of  the  rank  of  mental  action. 
The  moth  which  flies  into  the  candle,  instead  of 
away  from  it,  “fails,”  in  Spencer’s  words  (vol.  I, 
p.  409),  to  “correspond”  with  its  environment;  but 
clearly,  in  this  sense,  pure  cognitive  inference  of  the 
existence  of  heat  after  a perception  of  light  would 
not  suffice  to  constitute  correspondence;  while  a 
moth  which,  on  feeling  the  light,  should  merely 
vaguely  fear  to  approach  it,  but  have  no  proper 
image  of  the  heat,  would  “correspond.”  So  that  the  • 
Spencerian  formula,  to  mean  anything  definite  at 
all,  must,  at  least,  be  re-written  as  follows : “Right 
or  intelligent  mental  action  consists  in  the  estab- 
lishment, corresponding  to  outward  relations,  of 
such  inward  relations  and  reactions  as  will  favor 
the  survival  of  the  thinker,  or,  at  least,  his  physical 
well-being.” 

Such  a definition  as  this  is  precise,  but  at  the  - 


49 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  DS78] 


same  time  it  is  frankly  teleological.  It  explicitly 
postulates  a distinction  between  mental  action  pure 
and  simple,  and  right  mental  action ; and  further- 
more, it  proposes,  as  criteria  of  this  latter,  certain 
ideal  ends — those  of  physical  prosperity  or  sur- 
vival, which  are  pure  subjective  interests  on  the  ani- 
mal’s part,  brought  with  it  upon  the  scene  and  cor- 
responding to  no  relation  already  there.1  No  men- 
tal action  is  right  or  intelligent  which  fails  to  fit 
this  standard.  No  correspondence  can  pass  muster 
till  it  shows  its  subservience  to  these  ends.  Corre- 
sponding itself  to  no  actual  outward  thing;  refer- 
ring merely  to  a future  which  may  be,  but  which 
these  interests  now  say  shall  be;  purely  ideal,  in  a 
word,  they  judge,  dominate,  determine  all  corre- 

1 These  interests  are  the  real  a priori  element  in  cognition. 
By  saying  that  their  pleasures  and  pains  have  nothing  to  do 
with  correspondence,  I mean  simply  this : To  a large  number 
of  terms  in  the  environment  there  may  be  inward  correlatives 
of  a neutral  sort  as  regards  feeling.  The  “correspondence”  is 
already  there.  But,  now,  suppose  some  to  be  accented  with 
pleasure,  others  with  pain ; that  is  a fact  additional  to  the  cor- 
respondence, a fact  with  no  outward  correlative.  But  it  im- 
mediately orders  the  correspondences  in  this  way : that  the 
pleasant  or  interesting  items  are  singled  out,  dwelt  upon,  de- 
veloped into  their  farther  connections,  whilst  the  unpleasant  or 
insipid  ones  are  ignored  or  suppressed.  The  future  of  the 
Mind’s  development  is  thus  mapped  out  in  advance  by  the  way 
in  which  the  lines  of  pleasure  and  pain  run.  The  interests  pre- 
cede the  outer  relations  noticed.  Take  the  utter  absence  of 
response  of  a dog  or  a savage  to  the  greater  mass  of  environing 
relations.  How  can  you  alter  it  unless  you  previously  awaken 
an  interest — i.e.,  produce  a susceptibility  to  intellectual  pleas- 
ure in  certain  modes  of  cognitive  exercise?  Interests,  then, 
are  an  all-essential  factor  which  no  writer  pretending  to  give 
an  account  of  mental  evolution  has  a right  to  neglect. 


50 


[1878]  SPENCER’S  DEFINITION  OF  MIND 


spondences  between  the  inner  and  the  outer.  Which 
is  as  much  as  to  say  that  mere  correspondence  with 
the  outer  world  is  a notion  on  which  it  is  wholly 
impossible  to  base  a definition  of  mental  action.. 
Mr.  Spencer’s  occult  reason  for  leaving  unexpressed 
the  most  important  part  of  the  definition  he  works 
with  probably  lies  in  its  apparent  implication  of 
subjective  spontaneity.  The  mind,  according  to  his 
philosophy,  should  be  pure  product,  absolute  deri- 
vative from  the  non-mental.  To  make  it  dictate 
conditions,  bring  independent  interests  into  the 
game  which  may  determine  what  we  shall  call  cor- 
respondence, and  what  not,  might,  at  first  sight, 
appear  contrary  to  the  notion  of  evolution  which 
forbids  the  introduction  at  any  point  of  an  abso- 
lutely new  factor.  In  what  sense  the  existence  of 
survival  interest  does  postulate  such  a factor  we 
shall  hereafter  see.  I think  myself  that  it  is  pos- 
sible to  express  all  its  outward  results  in  non- 
mental terms.  But  the  unedifying  look  of  the  thing, 
its  simulation  of  an  independent  mental  teleology, 
seems  to  have  frightened  Mr.  Spencer  here,  as  else- 
where, away  from  a serious  scrutiny  of  the  facts. 
But  let  us  be  indulgent  to  his  timidity,  and  assume 
that  survival  was  all  the  while  a “mental  reserva- 
tion” with  him,  only  excluded  from  his  formula  by 
reason  of  the  comforting  sound  it  might  have  to 
Philistine  ears. 

We  should  then  have,  as  the  embodiment  of  the 
highest  ideal  perfection  of  mental  development,  a 
creature  of  superb  cognitive  endowments,  from 


51 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  t1878l 


whose  piercing  perceptions  no  fact  was  too  minute 
or  too  remote  to  escape;  whose  all-embracing  fore- 
sight no  contingency  could  find  unprepared;  whose 
invincible  flexibility  of  resource  no  array  of  out- 
ward onslaught  could  overpower;  but  in  whom  all 
these  gifts  were  swayed  by  the  single  passion  of  love 
of  life,  of  survival  at  any  price.  This  determination 
filling  his  whole  energetic  being,  consciously  real- 
ized, intensified  by  meditation,  becomes  a fixed  idea, 
would  use  all  the  other  faculties  as  its  means,  and, 
if  they  ever  flagged,  would  by  its  imperious  intensity 
spur  them  and  hound  them  on  to  ever  fresh  exer- 
tions and  achievements.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that,  if  such  an  incarnation  of  earthly  prudence 
existed,  a race  of  beings  in  whom  this  monotonously 
narrow  passion  for  self-preservation  were  aided  by 
every  cognitive  gift,  they  would  soon  be  kings  of 
all  the  earth.  All  known  human  races  would  wither 
before  their  breath,  and  be  as  dust  beneath  their 
conquering  feet. 

But  whether  any  Spencerian  would  hail  with 
hearty  joy  their  advent  is  another  matter.  Cer- 
tainly Mr.  Spencer  would  not;  while  the  common 
sense  of  mankind  would  stand  aghast  at  the 
thought  of  them.  Why  does  common  opinion  abhor 
such  a being?  Why  does  it  crave  greater  “rich- 
ness” of  nature  in  its  mental  ideal?  Simply  be- 
cause, to  common  sense,  survival  is  only  one  out  of 
many  interests — primus  inter  pares,  perhaps,  but 
still  in  the  midst  of  peers.  What  are  these  inter- 
ests? Most  men  would  reply  that  they  are  all  that 


52 


[1878]  SPENCER’S  DEFINITION  OF  MIND 


makes  survival  worth  securing.  The  social  affec-  / 
tions,  all  the  various  forms  of  play,  the  thrilling  in- 
timations of  art,  the  delights  of  philosophic  con- 
templation, the  rest  of  religious  emotion,  the  joy  of 
moral  self-approbation,  the  charm  of  fancy  and  of 
wit — some  or  all  of  these  are  absolutely  required  to 
make  the  notion  of  mere  existence  tolerable;  and 
individuals  who,  by  their  special  powers,  satisfy 
these  desires  are  protected  by  their  fellows  and  en- 
abled to  survive,  though  their  mental  constitution 
should  in  other  respects  be  lamentably  ^-“ad- 
justed” to  the  outward  world.  The  story-teller,  the  / 
musician,  the  theologian,  the  actor,  or  even  the  mere 
charming  fellow,  have  never  lacked  means  of  sup- 
port, however  helpless  they  might  individually  have 
been  to  conform  with  those  outward  relations  which 
we  know  as  the  powers  of  nature.  The  reason  is  * 
very  plain.  To  the  individual  man,  as  a social  be- 
ing, the  interests  of  his  fellow  are  a part  of  his  en- 
vironment. If  his  powers  correspond  to  the  wants 
of  this  social  environment,  he  may  survive,  even 
though  he  be  ill-adapted  to  the  natural  or  “outer” 
environment.  But  these  wants  are  pure  subjective  ' 
ideals,  with  nothing  outward  to  correspond  to 
them.  So  that,  as  far  as  the  individual  is  concerned,  - 
it  becomes  necessary  to  modify  Spencer’s  survival 
formula  still  further,  by  introducing  into  the  term 
environment  a reference,  not  only  to  existent 
things1,  but  also  to  ideal  wants.  It  would  have  v 

P The  word  “non-existent”  has  been  omitted  as  being  due, 
apparently,  to  a misprint.  En.] 


53 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0878] 


to  run  in  some  such  way  as  this : “Excellence  of  the 
individual  mind  consists  in  the  establishment  of 
inner  relations  mure  and  more  extensively  con- 
formed to  the  outward  facts  of  nature,  and  to  the 
ideal  wants  of  the  individual’s  fellows,  but  all  of 
such  a character  as  will  promote  survival  or  physi- 
cal prosperity.” 

But  here,  again,  common  sense  will  meet  us  with 

• an  objection.  Mankind  desiderate  certain  qualities 
in  the  individual  which  are  incompatible  with  his 

• chance  of  survival  being  a maximum.  Why  do  we 
all  so  eulogize  and  love  the  heroic,  recklessly  gen- 
erous, and  disinterested  type  of  character?  These 
qualities  certainly  imperil  the  survival  of  their  pos- 

• sessor.  The  reason  is  very  plain.  Even  if  headlong 
courage,  pride,  and  martyr-spirit  do  ruin  the  in- 
dividual, they  benefit  the  community  as  a whole 
whenever  they  are  displayed  by  one  of  its  members 
against  a competing  tribe.  “It  is  death  to  you,  but 

• fun  for  us.”  Our  interest  in  having  the  hero  as  he 
is,  plays  indirectly  into  the  hands  of  our  survival, 
though  not  of  his. 

This  explicit  acknowledgment  of  the  survival  in- 
terests of  the  tribe,  as  accounting  for  many  inter- 
ests in  the  individual  which  seem  at  first  sight 
either  unrelated  to  survival  or  at  war  with  it,  seems, 
after  all,  to  bring  back  unity  and  simplicity  into  the 
Spencerian  formula.  Why,  the  Spencerian  may 
ask,  may  not  all  the  luxuriant  foliage  of  ideal  inter- 
ests—aesthetic,  philosophic,  theologic,  and  the  rest — 
which  co-exist  along  with  that  of  survival,  be  pres- 


54 


[1878]  SPENCER’S  DEFINITION  OF  MIND 


ent  in  the  tribe  and  so  form  part  of  the  individual’s 
environment,  merely  by  virtue  of  the  fact  that  they 
minister  in  an  indirect  way  to  the  survival  of  the 
tribe  as  a whole?  The  disinterested  scientific  ap- 
petite of  cognition,  the  sacred  philosophic  love  of 
consistency,  the  craving  for  luxury  and  beauty,  the 
passion  for  amusement,  may  all  find  their  proper 
significance  as  processes  of  mind,  strictly  so-called, 
in  the  incidental  utilitarian  discoveries  which  flow 
from  the  energy  they  set  in  motion.  Conscience, 
thoroughness,  purity,  love  of  truth,  susceptibility 
to  discipline,  eager  delight  in  fresh  impressions,  al- 
though none  of  them  are  traits  of  Intelligence  in  se, 
may  thus  be  marks  of  a general  mental  energy, 
without  which  victory  over  nature  and  over  other 
human  competitors  would  be  impossible.  And,  as 
victory  means  survival,  and  survival  is  the  criterion 
of  Intelligent  “Correspondence,”  these  qualities, 
though  not  expressed  in  the  fundamental  law  of 
mind,  may  yet  have  been  all  the  while  understood 
by  Mr.  Spencer  to  form  so  many  secondary  conse- 
quences and  corollaries  of  that  law. 

But  here  it  is  decidedly  time  to  take  our  stand 
and  refuse  our  aid  in  propping  up  Mr.  Spencer’s 
definition  by  any  further  good-natured  transla- 
tions and  supplementary  contributions  of  our  own. 
It  is  palpable  at  a glance  that  a mind  whose  sur- 
vival interest  could  only  be  adequately  secured  by 
such  a wasteful  array  of  energy  squandered  on  side 
issues  would  be  immeasurably  inferior  to  one  like 
that  which  we  supposed  a few  pages  back,  in  which 


55 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0878] 


the  monomania  of  tribal  preservation  should  be  the 
one  all-devouring  passion. 

Surely  there  is  nothing  in  the  essence  of  intelli- 
gence which  should  oblige  it  forever  to  delude  itself 
as  to  its  own  ends,  and  to  strive  towards  a goal  suc- 
cessfully only  at  the  cost  of  consciously  appearing 
to  have  far  other  aspirations  in  view. 

A furnace  which  should  produce  along  with  its 
metal  fifty  different  varieties  of  ash  and  slag,  a 
planing-mill  whose  daily  yield  in  shavings  far  ex- 
ceeded that  in  boards,  would  rightly  be  pronounced 
inferior  to  one  of  the  usual  sort,  even  though  more 
energy  should  be  displayed  in  its  working,  and  at 
moments  some  of  that  energy  be  directly  effective. 
If  ministry  to  survival  be  the  sole  criterion  of  men- 
tal excellence,  then  luxury  and  amusement,  Shake- 
speare, Beethoven,  Plato,  and  Marcus  Aurelius,  stel- 
lar spectroscopy,  diatom  markings,  and  nebular 
hypotheses  are  by-products  on  too  wasteful  a scale. 
The  slag-heap  is  too  big — it  abstracts  more  energy 
than  it  contributes  to  the  ends  of  the  machine ; and 
every  serious  evolutionist  ought  resolutely  to  bend 
his  attention  henceforward  to  the  reduction  in  num- 
ber and  amount  of  these  outlying  interests,  and  the 
diversion  of  the  energy  they  absorb  into  purely  pru- 
dential channels. 

Here,  then,  is  our  dilemma:  One  man  may  say 
that  the  law  of  mental  development  is  dominated 
solely  by  the  principle  of  conservation;  another, 
that  richness  is  the  criterion  of  mental  evolution; 
a third,  that  pure  cognition  of  the  actual  is  the  es- 


56 


nSTS]  SPENCER’S  DEFINITION  OF  MIND 


sence  of  worthy  thinking — but  who  shall  pretend 
to  decide  which  is  right?  The  umpire  would  have  * 
to  bring  a standard  of  his  own  upon  the  scene, 
which  would  be  just  as  subjective  and  personal  as 
the  standards  used  by  the  contestants.  And  yet 
some  standard  there  must  be,  if  we  are  to  attempt 
to  define  in  any  way  the  worth  of  different  mental 
manifestations. 

Is  it  not  already  clear  to  the  reader’s  mind  that 
the  whole  difficulty  in  making  Mr.  Spencer’s  law 
work  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  is  not  really  a constitu- 
tive, but  a regulative,  law  of  thought  which  he  is 
erecting,  and  that  he  does  not  frankly  say  so?  Every 
law  of  Mind  must  be  either  a law  of  the  cogitatum 
or  a law  of  the  cogitandum.  If  it  be  a law  in  the 
sense  of  an  analysis  of  what  we  do  think,  then  it 
will  include  error,  nonsense,  the  worthless  as  well 
as  the  worthy,  metaphysics,  and  mythologies  as  well 
as  scientific  truths  which  mirror  the  actual  en- 
vironment. But  such  a law  of  the  cogitatum  is 
already  well  known.  It  is  no  other  than  the  asso- 
ciation of  ideas  according  to  their  several  modes; 
or,  rather,  it  is  this  association  definitively  per- 
fected by  the  inclusion  of  the  teleological  factor  of 
interest  by  Mr.  Hodgson  in  the  fifth  chapter  of  his 
masterly  “Time  and  Space.” 

That  Mr.  Spencer,  in  the  part  of  his  work  which 
we  are  considering,  has  no  such  law  as  this  in  view 
is  evident  from  the  fact  that  he  has  striven  to  give 
an  original  formulation  to  such  a law  in  another 
part  of  his  book,  in  that  chapter,  namely,  on  the 

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COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1878] 


associability  of  relations,  in  the  first  volume,  where 
the  apperception  of  times  and  places,  and  the  sup- 
pression of  association  by  similarity,  are  made  to 
explain  the  facts  in  a way  whose  operose  ineptitude 
has  puzzled  many  a simple  reader. 

Now,  every  living  man  would  instantly  define 
right  thinking  as  thinking  in  correspondence  with 
reality.  But  Spencer,  in  saying  that  right  thought 
is  that  which  conforms  to  existent  outward  rela- 
tions, and  this  exclusively,  undertakes  to  decide 
what  the  reality  is.  In  other  words,  under  cover  of 
an  apparently  formal  definition  he  really  smuggles 
in  a material  definition  of  the  most  far-reaching  im- 
port. For  the  Stoic,  to  whom  vivere  convenienter 
natures  was  also  the  law  of  mind,  the  reality  was  an 
archetypal  Nature ; for  the  Christian,  whose  mental 
law  is  to  discover  the  will  of  God,  and  make  one’s 
actions  correspond  thereto,  that  is  the  reality.  In 
fact,  the  philosophic  problem  which  all  the  ages 
have  been  trying  to  solve  in  order  to  make  thought 
in  some  way  correspond  With  it,  and  which  dis- 
believers in  philosophy  call  insoluble,  is  just  that: 
What  is  the  reality?  All  the  thinking,  all  the  con- 
flict of  ideals,  going  on  in  the  world  at  the  present 
moment  is  in  some  way  tributary  to  this  quest.  To 
attempt,  therefore,  with  Mr.  Spencer,  to  decide  the 
matter  merely  incidentally,  to  forestall  discussion 
by  a definition — to  carry  the  position  by  surprise, 
in  a word — is  a proceeding  savoring  more  of  piracy 
than  philosophy.  No,  Spencer’s  definition  of  what 
we  ought  to  think  cannot  be  suffered  to  lurk  in  am- 


58 


[1878]  SPENCER’S  DEFINITION  OF  MIND 


bush ; it  must  stand  out  explicitly  with  the  rest,  and 
expect  to  be  challenged  and  give  an  account  of 
itself  like  any  other  ideal  norm  of  thought. 

We  have  seen  how  he  seems  to  vacillate  in  his  de- 
termination of  it.  At  one  time,  “scientific”  thought, 
mere  passive  mirroring  of  outward  nature,  purely 
registrative  cognition;  at  another  time,  thought  in 
the  exclusive  service  of  survival,  would  seem  to  be 
his  ideal.  Let  us  consider  the  latter  ideal  first,  since 
it  has  the  polyp’s  authority  in  its  favor : “We  must 
survive — that  end  must  regulate  all  our  thought.” 
The  poor  man  who  said  to  Talleyrand,  uIl  faut  bien 
que  je  vive!”  expressed  it  very  well.  But  criticise 
this  ideal,  or  transcend  it  as  Talleyrand  did  by  his 
cool  reply,  “J e n'en  vois  pas  la  necessity  ” and  it  can 
say  nothing  more  for  itself.  A priori  it  is  a mere 
brute  teleological  affirmation  on  a par  with  all 
others.  Vainly  you  should  hope  to  prove  it  to  a 
person  bent  on  suicide,  who  has  but  the  one  long- 
ing— to  escape,  to  cease.  Vainly  you  would  argue 
with  a Buddhist  or  a German  pessimist,  for  they 
feel  the  full  imperious  strength  of  the  desire,  but 
have  an  equally  profound  persuasion  of  its  essential 
wrongness  and  mendacity.  Vainly,  too,  would  you 
talk  to  a Christian,  or  even  to  any  believer  in  the 
simple  creed  that  the  deepest  meaning  of  the  world 
is  moral.  For  they  hold  that  mere  conformity  with 
the  outward — worldly  success  and  survival — is  not 
the  absolute  and  exclusive  end.  In  the  failures  to 
“adjust” — in  the  rubbish-heap,  according  to  Spen- 
cer— lies,  for  them,  the  real  key  to  the  truth — the 


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COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0878] 


sole  mission  of  life  being  to  teach  that  the  outward 
actual  is  not  the  whole  of  being. 

And  now — if,  falling  back  on  the  scientific  ideal, 
you  say  that  to  Icnoiv  is  the  one  tsXo?  of  intelli- 
gence— not  only  will  the  inimitable  Turkish  cadi  in 
Layard’s  Nineveh  praise  God  in  your  face  that  he 
seeks  not  that  which  he  requires  not,  and  ask,  “Will 
much  knowledge  create  thee  a double  belly?”— not 
only  may  I,  if  it  please  me,  legitimately  refuse  to 
stir  from  my  fool’s  paradise  of  theosophy  and  mys- 
ticism, in  spite  of  all  your  calling  (since,  after  all, 
your  true  knowledge  and  my  pious  feeling  have 
alike  nothing  to  back  them  save  their  seeming  good 
to  our  respective  personalities) — not  only  this,  but 
to  the  average  sense  of  mankind,  whose  ideal  of 
mental  nature  is  best  expressed  by  the  word  “rich- 
ness,” your  statistical  and  cognitive  intelligence 
will  seem  insufferably  narrow,  dry,  tedious,  and 
unacceptable. 

The  truth  appears  to  be  that  every  individual  man 
may,  if  it  please  him,  set  up  his  private  categori- 
cal imperative  of  what  rightness  or  excellence  in 
thought  shall  consist  in,  and  these  different  ideals, 
instead  of  entering  upon  the  scene  armed  with  a 
warrant — whether  derived  from  the  polyp  or  from 
a transcendental  source — appear  only  as  so  many 
brute  affirmations  left  to  fight  it  out  upon  the  chess- 
board among  themselves.  They  are,  at  best,  postu- 
lates, each  of  which  must  depend  on  the  general 
consensus  of  experience  as  a whole  to  bear  out  its 
validity.  The  formula  which  proves  to  have  the 


[1878]  SPENCER’S  DEFINITION  OF  MIND 


most  massive  destiny  will  be  the  true  one.  But  this 
is  a point  which  can  only  be  solved  ambulando,  and 
not  by  any  a priori  definition.  The  attempt  to  fore- 
stall the  decision  is  free  to  all  to  make,  but  all  make 
it  at  their  risk.  Our  respective  hypotheses  and  post-  * 
ulates  help  to  shape  the  course  of  thought,  but  the 
only  thing  which  we  all  agree  in  assuming  is,  that 
thought  will  be  coerced  away  from  them  if  they  are 
wrong.  If  Spencer  to-day  says,  “Bow  to  the  ac-  y 
tual,”  whilst  Swinburne  spurns  “compromise  with 
the  nature  of  things,”  I exclaim,  “Fiat  justitia, 
pereat  mundus,”  and  Mill  says,  “To  hell  I will  go, 
rather  than  ‘adjust’  myself  to  an  evil  God,”  what 
umpire  can  there  be  between  us  but  the  future?  The 
idealists  and  the  empiricists  confront  each  other 
like  Guelphs  and  Ghibellines,  but  each  alike  waits 
for  adoption,  as  it  were,  by  the  course  of  events. 

In  other  words,  we  are  all  fated  to  be  a priori  * 
teleologists  whether  we  will  or  not.  Interests  * 
which  we  bring  with  us,  and  simply  posit  or  take 
our  stand  upon,  are  the  very  flour  out  of  which  our 
mental  dough  is  kneaded.  The  organism  of  thought,  * 
from  the  vague  dawn  of  discomfort  or  ease  in  the 
polyp  to  the  intellectual  joy  of  Laplace  among  his 
formulas,  is  teleological  through  and  through.  Not  * 
a cognition  occurs  but  feeling  is  there  to  comment 
on  it,  to  stamp  it  as  of  greater  or  less  worth. 
Spencer  and  Plato  are  ejusdem  farince.  To  attempt 
to  hoodwink  teleology  out  of  sight  by  saying  noth- 
ing about  it,  is  the  vainest  of  procedures.  Spencer  * 
merely  takes  sides  with  the  ni'koq  he  happens  to 


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COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1878] 


prefer,  whether  it  be  that  of  physical  well-being  or 
that  of  cognitive  registration.  He  represents  a par- 
ticular teleology.  Well  might  teleology  (had  she 
a voice)  exclaim  with  Emerson’s  Brahma: 

“If  the  red  slayer  think  he  slays, 

Or  if  the  slain  think  he  is  slain, 

They  know  not  well  the  subtle  ways 
I keep,  and  pass  and  turn  again. 

“They  reckon  ill  who  leave  me  out ; 

When  me  they  fly,  I am  the  wings ; 

I am  the  doubter  and  the  doubt,”  etc. 

But  now  a scientific  man,  feeling  something  un- 
canny in  this  omnipresence  of  a teleological  factor 
dictating  how  the  mind  shall  correspond — an  in- 
terest seemingly  tributary  to  nothing  non-mental 
— may  ask  us  what  we  meant  by  saying  sometime 
back  that  in  one  sense  it  is  perfectly  possible  to 
express  the  existence  of  interests  in  non-mental 
terms.  We  meant  simply  this : That  the  reactions 
or  outward  consequences  of  the  interests  could  be 
so  expressed.  The  interest  of  survival  which  has 
hitherto  been  treated  as  an  ideal  sliould-be,  presid- 
ing from  the  start  and  marking  out  the  way  in 
which  an  animal  must  react,  is,  from  an  outward 
and  physical  point  of  view,  nothing  more  than  an 
objective  future  implication  of  the  reaction  (if  it 
occurs)  as  an  actual  fact.  If  the  animal’s  brain 
acts  fortuitously  in  the  right  way,  he  survives.  His 
young  do  the  same.  The  reference  to  survival  in 
no  way  preceded  or  conditioned  the  intelligent  act; 


62 


[1878]  SPENCER’S  DEFINITION  OF  MIND 


but  the  fact  of  survival  was  merely  bound  up  with 
it  as  an  incidental  consequence,  and  may,  therefore, 
be  called  accidental,  rather  than  instrumental,  to 
the  production  of  intelligence.  It  is  the  same  with  * 
all  other  interests.  They  are  pleasures  and  pains  * 
incidentally  implied  in  the  workings  of  the  nervous 
mechanism,  and,  therefore,  in  their  ultimate  origin, 
non-mental;  for  the  idiosyncrasies  of  our  nervous 
centres  are  mere  “spontaneous  variations,”  like  any 
of  those  which  form  the  ultimate  data  for  Darwin’s 
theory.  A brain  which  functions  so  as  to  insure  ^ 
survival  may,  therefore,  be  called  intelligent  in  no 
other  sense  than  a tooth,  a limb,  or  a stomach, 
which  should  serve  the  same  end — the  sense, 
namely,  of  appropriate ; as  when  we  say  “that  is  an 
intelligent  device,”  meaning  a device  fitted  to  secure 
a certain  end  which  we  assume.  If  nirvana  were 
the  end,  instead  of  survival,  then  it  is  true  the 
means  would  be  different,  but  in  both  cases  alike 
the  end  would  not  precede  the  means,  or  even  be 
coeval  with  them,  but  depend  utterly  upon  them, 
and  follow  them  in  point  of  time.  The  fox’s  cunning 
and  the  hare’s  speed  are  thus  alike  creations  of  the 
non-mental.  The  TsXoq  they  entail  is  no  more  an 
agent  in  one  case  than  another,  since  in  both  alike 
it  is  a resultant.  Spencer,  then,  seems  justified  in 
not  admitting  it  to  appear  as  an  irreducible  ulti- 
mate factor  of  Mind,  any  more  than  of  Body. 

This  position  is  perfectly  unassailable  so  long  as  • 
one  describes  the  phenomena  in  this  manner  from 
without.  The  isXog  in  that  case  can  only  be  hypo-  - 


63 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0878] 


thetically,  not  imperatively,  stated:  if  such  and 
such  be  the  end,  then  such  brain  functions  are  the 
most  intelligent,  just  as  such  and  such  digestive 
functions  are  the  most  appropriate.  But  such  and 
such  cannot  be  declared  as  the  end,  except  by  the 
commenting  mind  of  an  outside  spectator.  The 
organs  themselves,  in  their  working  at  any  instant, 
cannot  but  be  supposed  indifferent  as  to  what  prod- 
uct they  are  destined  fatally  to  bring  forth,  cannot 
be  imagined  whilst  fatally  producing  one  result  to 
have  at  the  same  time  a notion  of  a different  result 
which  should  be  their  truer  end,  but  which  they  are 
unable  to  secure. 

Nothing  can  more  strikingly  show,  it  seems  to  me, 
the  essential  difference  between  the  point  of  view 
of  consciousness  and  that  of  outward  existence.  We 
can  describe  the  latter  only  in  teleological  terms, 
hypothetically,  or  else  by  the  addition  of  a sup- 
posed contemplating  mind  which  measures  what  it 
sees  going  on  by  its  private  teleological  standard, 
and  judges  it  intelligent.  But  consciousness  itself 
is  not  merely  intelligent  in  this  sense.  It  is  intelli- 
gent intelligence.  It  seems  both  to  supply  the 
means  and  the  standard  by  which  they  are  meas- 
ured. It  not  only  serves  a final  purpose,  but  brings 
a final  purpose — posits,  declares  it.  This  purpose 
is>  not  a mere  hypothesis — “if  survival  is  to  occur, 
then  brain  must  so  perform,”  etc. — but  an  impera- 
tive decree:  “Survival  shall  occur,  and,  therefore, 
brain  must  so  perform!”  It  seems  hopelessly  im- 
possible to  formulate  anything  of  this  sort  in  non- 

64 


[3.878]  SPENCER’S  DEFINITION  OF  MIND 


mental  terms,  and  this  is  why  I must  still  contend 
that  the  phenomena  of  subjective  “interest,”  as  soon 
as  the  animal  consciously  realizes  the  lattei’,  ap- 
pears upon  the  scene  as  an  absolutely  new  factor, 
which  we  can  only  suppose  to  be  latent  thitherto 
in  the  physical  environment  by  crediting  the  physi- 
cal atoms,  etc.,  each  with  a consciousness  of  its  own, 
approving  or  condemning  its  motions. 

This,  then,  must  be  our  conclusion : That  no  law  * 
of  the  cogitandum,  no  normative  receipt  for  excel- 
lence in  thinking,  can  be  authoritatively  promul- 
gated. The  only  formal  canon  that  we  can  apply 
to  mind  which  is  unassailable  is  the  barren  truism 
that  it  must  think  rightly.  We  can  express  this  in  • 
terms  of  correspondence  by  saying  that  thought 
must  correspond  with  timth ; but  whether  that  truth 
be  actual  or  ideal  is  left  undecided. 

We  have  seen  that  the  invocation  of  the  polyp 
to  decide  for  us  that  it  is  actual  (apart  from  the 
fact  that  he  does  not  decide  in  that  way)  is  based 
on  a principle  which  refutes  itself  if  consistently 
carried  out.  Spencer’s  formula  has  crumbled  into 
utter  worthlessness  in  our  hands,  and  we  have  noth- 
ing to  replace  it  by  except  our  several  individual 
hypotheses,  convictions,  and  beliefs.  Far  from 
being  vouched  for  by  the  past,  these  are  verified 
only  by  the  future.  They  are  all  of  them,  in  some 
sense,  laws  of  the  ideal.  They  have  to  keep  house 
together,  and  the  weakest  goes  to  the  wall.  The 
survivors  constitute  the  right  way  of  thinking. 
While  the  issue  is  still  undecided,  we  can  only  call 


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COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0878] 


them  our  prepossessions.  But,  decided  or  not, 
“go  in”  we  each  must  for  one  set  of  interests  or  an- 
other. The  question  for  each  of  us  in  the  battle  of 
life  is,  “Can  we  come  out  with  it?”  Some  of  these 
interests  admit  to-day  of  little  dispute.  Survival, 
physical  well-being,  and  undistorted  cognition  of 
what  is,  will  hold  their  ground.  But  it  is  truly 
strange  to  see  writers  like  Messrs.  Huxley  and 
Clifford,  who  show  themselves  able  to  call  most 
things  in  question,  unable,  when  it  comes  to  the 
interest  of  cognition,  to  touch  it  with  their  solvent 

■ doubt.  They  assume  some  mysterious  imperative 
laid  upon  the  mind,  declaring  that  the  infinite  ascer- 
tainment of  facts  is  its  supreme  duty,  which  he 
who  evades  is  a blasphemer  and  child  of  shame. 

• And  yet  these  authors  can  hardly  have  failed  to 
reflect,  at  some  moment  or  other,  that  the  disin- 
terested love  of  information,  and  still  more  the  love 
of  consistency  in  thought  (that  true  scientific 
oestrus),  and  the  ideal  fealty  to  Truth  (with  a 
capital  T),  are  all  so  many  particular  forms  of 
aesthetic  interest,  late  in  their  evolution,  arising 
in  conjunction  with  a vast  number  of  similar  aes- 
thetic interests,  and  bearing  with  them  no  a priori 

* mark  of  being  worthier  than  these.  If  we  may 
doubt  one,  we  may  doubt  all.  How  shall  I say  that 
knowing  fact  with  Messrs.  Huxley  and  Clifford  is 
a better  use  to  put  my  mind  to  than  feeling  good 
with  Messrs.  Moody  and  Sankey,  unless  by  slowly 
and  painfully  finding  out  that  in  the  long  run  it 
works  best? 


66 


[1878]  SPENCER’S  DEFINITION  OF  MIND 


I,  for  my  part,  cannot  escape  the  consideration, 
forced  upon  me  at  every  turn,  that  the  knower  is 
not  simply  a mirror  floating  with  no  foot-hold  any- 
where, and  passively  reflecting  an  order  that  he 
comes  upon  and  finds  simply  existing.  The  knower  * 
is  an  actor,  and  co-efficient  of  the  truth  on  one  side, 
whilst  on  the  other  he  registers  the  truth  which  he 
helps  to  create.  Mental  interests,  hypotheses,  * 
postulates,  so  far  as  they  are  bases  for  human 
action — action  which  to  a great  extent  transforms 
the  world — help  to  make  the  truth  which  they  de- 
clare. In  other  words,  there  belongs  to  mind,  from  * 
its  birth  upward,  a spontaneity,  a vote.  It  is  in  the  • 
game,  and  not  a mere  looker-on;  and  its  judgments 
of  the  should-be,  its  ideals,  cannot  be  peeled  off 
from  the  body  of  the  cogitandum  as  if  they  were  ex- 
crescences, or  meant,  at  most,  survival.  We  know  • 
so  little  about  the  ultimate  nature  of  things,  or  of 
ourselves,  that  it  would  be  sheer  folly  dogmatically 
to  say  that  an  ideal  rational  order  may  not  be  real. 
The  only  objective  criterion  of  reality  is  coercive- 
ness, in  the  long  run,  over  thought.  Objective  facts, 
Spencer’s  outward  relations,  are  real  only  because 
they  coerce  sensation.  Any  interest  which  should  ' 
be  coercive  on  the  same  massive  scale  would  be 
eodem  jure  real.  By  its  very  essence,  the  reality  of  * 
a thought  is  proportionate  to  the  way  it  grasps  us. 
Its  intensity,  its  seriousness — its  interest,  in  a word 
— taking  these  qualities,  not  at  any  given  instant, 
but  as  shown  by  the  total  upshot  of  experience.  If 
judgments  of  the  should-be  are  fated  to  grasp  us  in 


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this  way,  they  are  what  “correspond.”  The  ancients 
placed  the  conception  of  Fate  at  the  bottom  of 
things — deeper  than  the  gods  themselves.  “The 
fate  of  thought,”  utterly  barren  and  indeterminate 
as  such  a formula  is,  is  the  only  unimpeachable  reg- 
ulative Law  of  Mind. 


68 


IX 


QUELQUES  CONSIDERATIONS  SUE  LA 
METHODE  SUBJECTIVE1 

[1878] 

Aux  Redacteurs  de  la  Critique  philosophique 
Messieurs, 

Depuis  longtemps  dejh,  quand  des  idees  noires, 
pessimisme,  fatalisme,  etc.,  me  viennent  obseder, 
j’ai  l’habitnde  de  m’en  debarrasser  par  un  raison- 
nement  fort  simple,  et  tellement  d’accord  ayec  les 
principes  de  la  philosophic  h laqnelle  votre  revue 
est  consacree,  que  je  m’etonne  presque  de  ne  l’avoir 
pas  encore  rencontre  totidem  verbis  dans  quelqu’un 
de  vos  cahiers  hebdomadaires.  J’ose  vous  le  sou- 
mettre. 

11  s?agit  de  savoir  si  Von  est  en  droit  de  repousser 
une  theorie  confirmee  en  apparence  par  un  nombre 
tres-considerable  de  faits  objectifs,  uniquement 
parce  qu’elle  ne  repond  point  d nos  preferences  in- 
terieures. 

P Reprinted  from  Critique  Philosophique,  1878,  6me  annee, 
2,  407^13.  The  present  article  is  a brief  preliminary  state- 
ment of  matters  afterwards  discussed  in  “Rationality,  Activity 
and  Faith,’’  first  published  in  the  Princeton  Review  in  1882, 
and  later  reprinted  in  the  Will  to  Believe.  Cf.  below,  p.  83, 
note.  The  early  date  of  the  composition  of  this  communication, 
and  its  flattering  reception  by  Renouvier,  show  that  James’s 
interests  and  fame  were  from  the  beginning  of  his  career  identi- 
fied with  that  philosophical  tendency  which  culminated  in  his 
Pragmatism,.  See  above,  p.  43,  note.  Ed.] 


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On  n’a  pas  ce  droit,  nous  disent  les  hommes  qui 
cultivent  aujourd’hui  les  sciences,  ou  du  moins 
presque  tous,  et  tous  les  positivistes.  Repousser 
une  conclusion  par  ce  seul  motif  qu’elle  contrarie 
nos  sentiments  intimes  et  nos  desirs,  c’est  faire 
emploi  de  la  methode  subjective;  et  la  methode 
subjective,  h les  en  croire,  est  le  peche  originel  de  la 
science,  la  racine  de  toutes  les  erreurs  scientifiques. 
Suivant  eux,  loin  d’aller  ou  le  portent  ses  attraits, 
l’homme  qui  cberche  la  verite  doit  se  reduire  h la 
simple  condition  d’instrument  enregistreur,  faire  de 
sa  conscience  de  savant  une  sorte  de  feuille  blanche 
et  de  surface  rnorte,  sur  laquelle  la  realite  exterieure 
viendrait  se  retracer  sans  alteration  ni  courbure. 

Je  nie  absolument  la  legitimite  d’un  tel  parti  pris 
chez  ceux  qui  pretendent  le  poser  en  regie  univer- 
selle  de  la  methode.  Cette  regie  est  bonne  k appli- 
quer  k un  ordre  de  recherches,  mais  elle  est  denuee 
de  valeur,  elle  est  meme  absurde,  dans  un  autre 
ordre  de  verites  k trouver.  Rejeter  rigoureusement 
la  methode  subjective  partout  ou  la  verite  existe  en 
dehors  de  mon  action  et  se  determine  avec  certitude 
independamment  de  tout  ce  que  je  peux  desirer  ou 
craindre,  rien  de  plus  sage.  Ainsi,  les  faits  acquis 
de  l’histoire,  les  mouvements  futurs  des  astres  sont 
des  maintenant  determines,  soit  qu’ils  me  plaisent 
ou  non  comme  ils  sont  ou  seront.  Mes  preferences 
ici  sont  impuissantes  k produire  ou  k modifier  les 
choses  et  ne  pourraient  qu’obscurcir  mon  jugement. 
Je  dois  resolument  leur  imposer  silence. 

Mais  il  est  une  classe  de  faits  dont  la  matiere  n’est 


70 


[1878]  QUELQUES  considerations 


point  uinsi  constitute  ou  fixee  d’avance, — des  faits 
qui  ne  sont  pas  donnes. — Je  fais  une  ascension 
alpestre.  Je  me  trouve  dans  un  mauvais  pas  dont 
je  ne  peux  sortir  que  par  un  saut  liardi  et  dange- 
reux,  et  ce  saut,  je  voudrais  le  pouvoir  faire,  mais 
j’ignore,  faute  d’experience,  si  j’en  aurai  la  force. 
Supposons  que  j’emploie  la  methode  subjective:  je 
crois  ce  que  je  desire;  ma  confiance  me  donne  des 
forces  et  rend  possible  ce  qui,  sans  elle,  ne  l’eut 
peut-etre  pas  ete.  Je  francbis  done  l’espace  et  me 
voilh  hors  de  danger.  Mais  supposons  que  je  sois 
dispose  k nier  ma  capacite,  par  ce  motif  qu’elle  ne 
m’a  pas  encore  ett  demontree  par  ce  genre  d’ex- 
ploits : alors  je  balance,  j’hesite,  et  tant  et  tant  qu’a 
la  fin,  affaibli  et  tremblant,  reduit  a prendre  un 
elan  de  pur  desespoir,  je  manque  mon  coup  et  je 
tombe  dans  l’abime.  En  pareil  cas,  quoi  qu’il  en 
puisse  advenir,  je  ne  serai  qu’un  sot  si  je  ne  crois 
pas  ce  que  je  desire,  car  ma  croyance  se  trouve  etre 
une  condition  preliminaire,  indispensable  de  l’ac- 
complissement  de  son  objet  qu’elle  affirme.  Croyant 
a mes  forces,  je  m’elance;  le  resultat  donne  raison 
a ma  croyance,  la  verifie;  e’est  alors  seulement 
qu’elle  devient  vraie,  mais  alors  on  peut  dire  aussi 
qu’elle  etait  vraie.  II  y a done  des  cas  ou  une  croy- 
ance cree  sa  propre  verification.  Ne  croyez  pas, 
vous  aurez  raison;  et,  en  effet,  vous  tomberez  dans 
l’abime.  Croyez,  vous  aurez  encore  raison,  car  vous 
vous  sauverez.  Toute  la  difference  entre  les  deux 
cas,  e’est  que  le  second  vous  est  fort  avantageux. 

Des  que  j’admets  qu’une  certaine  alternative 


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existe,  et  que  l’option  pour  moi  n’est  possible  qu’h 
ce  prix  que  je  veuille  fournir  une  contribution  per- 
sonnelle ; des  que  je  reconnais  que  cette  contribution 
personnelle  depend  d’un  certain  degre  d’energie  sub- 
jective, qui  lui-meme  a besoin,  pour  se  realiser,  d’un 
certain  degre  de  foi  dans  le  resultat,  et  qu’ainsi 
l’avenir  possible  repose  sur  la  croyance  actuelle,  je 
dois  voir  en  quelle  absurdite  profonde  je  tomberais 
en  voulant  bannir  la  methode  subjective,  la  foi  de 
l’esprit.  Sur  l’existence  actuelle  de  cette  foi,  la 
possibility  de  l’avenir  se  fonde.  Cette  foi  peut  trom- 
per,  tres-bien.  Les  efforts  dont  elle  me  rend  ca- 
pable peuvent  ne  pas  aboutir  & creer  un  ordre  de 
choses  qu’elle  entrevoit  et  voudrait  determiner; 
voilfi  qui  est  dit.  Eh  bien ! ma  vie  est  manquee,  c’est 
indubitable ; mais  la  vie  de  M.  Huxley,  par  exemple, 
— de  M.  Huxley,  qui  ecrivait  dernierement : “Croire 
parce  qu’on  voudrait  croire  serait  faire  preuve  de 
la  derniere  immorality”, — cette  vie  ne  serait-elle 
pas  tout  aussi  manquee,  s’il  se  trouvait  par  hasard 
que  la  croyance  qu’il  voudrait  proscrire  comme 
denuee  de  garantie  objective  fut  en  definitive  la 
vraie ! 

Le  cas  est  toujours  possible.  Quoi  qu’on  fasse, 
en  ce  jeu  qu’on  appelle  la  vie,  qu’on  croie,  qu’on 
doute,  qu’on  nie,  on  est  egalement  expose  h perdre. 
Est-ce  une  raison  pour  ne  pas  jouer?  Non,  evi- 
demment ; mais  puisque  ce  qu’on  perd  est  une  quan- 
tity fixe  ( on  ne  fait  apres  tout  que  payer  de  sa  per- 
sonne),  c’est  une  raison  de  s’assurer,  par  tous  les 
moyens  legitimes  qu’on  a,  qu’au  cas  que  l’on  gagne, 


72 


[1878]  QUELQUES  considerations 


le  gain  soit  un  maximum.  Si,  par  exemple,  on  peut, 
en  croyant,  augmenter  le  grand  bien  qu’on  poursuit, 
le  prix  possible,  voilk  une  raison  de  croire. 

Or,  il  en  est  precisement  ainsi  touchant  plusieurs 
de  ces  questions  universelles,  qui  sont  les  problemes 
de  la  pbilosophie.  Prenons  celle  du  pessimisme. 
Sans  etre  arrive  partout  k l’etat  de  dogme  philo- 
sophique,  comme  nous  le  voyons  en  Allemagne,  le 
pessimisme  pose  k tout  penseur  un  serieux  pro- 
blem e : A quoi  bon  la  vie?  ou,  comme  on  dit  vulgaire- 
ment,  le  jeu  en  vaut-il  la  chandelle?  Si  on  prend 
parti  pour  la  reponse  pessimiste,  que  gagne-t-on  k 
avoir  raison?  Pas  grand’cbose,  assurement.  Au 
contraire,  on  gagne  un  maximum,  au  cas  qu’on  ait 
raison  en  decidant  en  faveur  de  l’opinion  qui  tient 
que  le  monde  est  bon.  Que  pouvons-nous  faire  pour 
que  ce  monde  soit  bon?  y contribuer  de  notre  part; 
et  comment  une  contribution  minime  peut-elle  chan- 
ger la  valeur  d’un  total  si  grand?  en  ce  qu’elle  est 
d’une  qualite  incomparablement  superieure.  Telle 
est  la  qualite  des  faits  de  la  vie  morale. 

Soit  M la  masse  des  faits  independants  de  moi, 
et  soit  r ma  reaction  propre,  le  contingent  des  faits 
qui  derivent  de  mon  activite  personnelle.  M con- 
sent, nous  le  savons,  une  somme  immense  de  phe- 
nomenes  de  besoin,  misere,  vieillesse,  douleur,  et  de 
choses  faites  pour  inspirer  le  degout  et  l’effroi.  II 
se  pourrait  alors  que  r se  produisit  comme  une  reac- 
tion du  desespoir,  fut  un  acte  de  suicide,  par  ex- 
emple, M + r,  la  totalite  avec  ce  qui  me  concerne, 
representerait  done  un  etat  de  choses  mauvais  de 


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tout  point.  Nul  rayon  dans  cette  nuit.  Le  pes- 
simisme, dans  cette  hypothese,  se  trouve  parachev6 
par  mon  acte  lui-meme,  derive  de  ma  croyance.  Le 
voilii  fait,  et  j’avais  raison  de  l’affirmer. 

Supposons,  au  contraire,  que  le  sentiment  du  mal 
contenu  dans  M,  au  lieu  de  me  decourager,  n’ait 
fait  qu’accroitre  ma  resistance  interieure.  Cette 
fois  ma  reaction  sera  l’oppose  du  desespoir;  r con- 
tiendra  patience,  courage,  devouement,  foi  & l’in- 
visible,  toutes  les  vertus  heroiques  et  les  joies  qui 
decoulent  de  ces  vertus.  Or,  c’est  un  fait  d’ex- 
perience,  et  l’empirisme  ne  peut  le  contester,  que 
de  telles  joies  sont  d’une  valeur  incomparable  aupres 
des  jouissances  purement  passives  qui  se  trouvent 
exclues  par  le  fait  de  la  constitution  de  M telle 
qu’elle  est.  Si  done  il  est  vrai  que  le  bonlieur  moral 
est  le  plus  grand  bonheur  actuellement  connu;  si, 
d’autre  part,  la  constitution  de  M,  par  le  mal  qu’il 
contient  et  la  reaction  qu’il  provoque,  estla  condition 
de  ce  bonheur,  n’est-il  pas  clair  que  M est  au  moins 
susceptible  d’appartenir  au  meilleur  des  mondes? 
Je  dis  susceptible  seulement,  parce  que  tout  depend 
du  caractere  de  r.  M en  soi  est  ambigu,  capable, 
selon  le  complement  qu’il  recevra,  de  figurer  dans 
un  pessimisme  ou  dans  un  optimisme  moral.1 

1 II  est  clair  qu’il  ne  faut  pas  donner  ici  & ce  mot  optimisme 
le  sens  qu’il  a regu  par  rapport  aux  questions  de  theodicee,  ou 
celui  qu’on  y attache  dans  la  philosophie  de  l’histoire:  sens  que 
rdsument  les  propositions : Tout  est  Men,  Tout  est  ntcessaire. 
Mais  le  pessimisme  signifiant  ci-dessus  la  doctrine  du  Tout  est 
mal,  on  entend  sans  doute  ici  par  1 'optimisme  non  pas  le  con- 
traire logique,  mais  simplement  le  contradictoire  logique  (pour 
employer  les  termes  de  l’Ecole)  de  cette  doctrine;  k savoir  non 


74 


[1878]  QUELQUES  considerations 


II  lera  diflicilement  partie  cl'nn  optimisme,  si 
nous  perdons  notre  energie  morale;  il  pourra  en 
faire  partie,  si  nous  la  conservons.  Mais  comment 
la  conserver,  il  moins  de  croire  k la  possibility  d’une 
reussite,  a moins  de  compter  sur  l’ayenir  et  de  se 
dire:  Ce  monde  est  bon , puisque,  au  point  de  yue 
moral,  il  est  ce  que  je  le  fais , et  que  je  le  ferai  bon? 
En  un  mot,  comment  exclure  de  la  connaissance  du 
fait  la  methode  subjective,  alors  que  cette  methode 
est  le  propre  instrument  de  la  production  du  fait? 

En  toute  proposition  dont  la  portee  est  uni- 
verselle,  il  faut  que  les  actes  du  sujet  et  leurs  suites 
sans  fin  soient  renfermes  d’avance  dans  la  formule. 
Telle  doit  etre  l’extension  de  la  formule  M + r, 
des  qu’on  la  prend  pour  representer  le  monde.  Ceci 
pose,  nos  vceux,  nos  souhaits  dtant  des  coefficients 
reels  du  terme  r,  soit  en  eux-memes,  soit  par  les 
croyances  qu’ils  nous  inspirent  ou,  si  l’on  veut,  par 
les  hypotheses  qu’ils  nous  suggerent,  on  doit  avouer 
que  ces  croyances  engendrent  une  partie  au  moins 
de  la  verite  qu’elles  affirment.  Telles  croyances, 
tels  faits;  d’autres  croyances,  d’autres  faits.  Et 
notons  bien  que  tout  ceci  est  independant  de  la 
question  de  la  liberte  absolue  ou  du  determinisme 
absolu.  Si  nos  faits  sont  determines,  c’est  que  nos 
croyances  le  sont  aussi;  mais  determinees  ou  non 
que  soient  ces  dernieres,  elles  sont  une  condition 
phenomenale  necessairement  prealable  aux  faits, 

pas  que  tout  est  bien,  mais  qu’il  est  faux  que  tout  soit  mal, 
qu ’il  y a du  bien,  que  le  monde  pent  etre  bon.  Au  debt  les 
questions  subsistent.  (Note  de  la  Critique  philosophique.) 


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n^cessairement  constitutive,  par  consequent,  de  la 
verite  que  nous  cherclions  k connaitre. 

Voilil  done  la  methode  subjective  justifiee  logique- 
tnent,  pourvu  qu’on  en  limite  convenablement 
l’emploi.  Elle  ne  serait  que  pernicieuse,  et  il  faut 
meme  dire  immorale,  appliquee  a des  cas  ou  les  faits 
Ht  formuler  ne  renfermeraient  pas  comme  facteur  le 
terme  subjectif  r.  Mais  partout  ou  entre  un  tel 
facteur,  l’application  en  est  legitime.  Prenons  en- 
core ce  probleme  pour  exemple : 

La  nature  intime  du  monde  est-elle  morale,  ou 
le  monde  n’est-il  qu’un  pur  fait,  une  simple  exis- 
tence actuelle?  C’est  au  fond  la  question  du  mate- 
rialisme.  Les  positivistes  objecteront  qu’une  ques- 
tion pareille  est  insoluble,  ou  meme  irrationnelle, 
attendu  que  la  nature  intime  du  monde,  existat-elle, 
n’est  pas  un  phenomene  et  ne  peut  en  consequence 
etre  verifiee.  Je  reponds  que  toute  question  a un 
sens  et  se  pose  nettement,  de  laquelle  resulte  une 
claire  alternative  pratique,  en  telle  sorte  que,  selon 
qu’on  y reponde  d’une  maniere  ou  d’une  autre,  on 
doive  adopter  une  conduite  ou  une  autre.  Or,  c’est 
le  cas : le  materialiste  et  celui  qui  affirme  une  nature 
morale  du  monde  devront  agir  differemment  l’un  de 
l’autre  en  bien  des  circonstances.  Le  materialiste, 
quand  les  faits  ne  concordent  pas  avec  ses  senti- 
ments moraux,  est  toujours  maitre  de  sacrifier  ces 
derniers.  Le  jugement  qu’il  porte  sur  un  fait,  en 
tant  que  loon  ou  mauvais,  est  relatif  h sa  constitu- 
tion psycliique  et  en  depend;  mais  cette  constitu- 
tion n’etant  elle-mtmie  qu’un  fait  et  une  donnee, 


76 


[1878]  QUELQUES  considerations 


n’est  en  soi  ni  bonne  ni  mauvaise.  II  est  done  permis 
de  la  modifier, — d’engourdir,  par  exemple,  le  senti- 
ment moral  a l’aide  de  toutes  sortes  de  moyens, — et 
de  changer  ainsi  le  jugement,  en  transformant  la 
donnee  de  laquelle  il  derive.  An  contraire,  celui  qui 
croit  a la  nature  morale  intime  du  monde,  estime 
qne  les  attributs  de  bien  et  de  mal  conviennent  k 
tous  les  phenomenes  et  s’appliquent  anx  donnees 
psychiques  aussi  bien  qu’aux  faits  relatifs  k ces 
donnees.  II  ne  saurait  done  songer,  comme  & une 
chose  toute  simple,  a fansser  ses  sentiments.  Ses 
sentiments  eux-memes  doivent , selon  lui,  etre  d’une 
maniere  et  non  d’une  autre. 

D’un  cote  done,  resistance  au  mal,  pauvrete  ac- 
ceptee,  martyre  s’il  le  faut,  la  vie  tragique,  en  un 
mot;  de  l’autre,  les  concessions,  les  accommode- 
ments,  les  capitulations  de  conscience  et  la  vie  epi- 
curienne;  tel  est  le  partage  entre  les  deux  croy- 
ances.  Observons  seulement  que  leurs  divergences 
ne  se  marquent  avec  force  qu’aux  moments  decisifs 
et  critiques  de  la  vie,  quand  l’insuffisance  des  maxi- 
mes  journalieres  oblige  de  recourir  aux  grands  prin- 
cipes.  La,  la  contradiction  eclate.  L’un  dit:  Le 
monde  est  chose  serieuse,  partout  et  toujours,  et 
il  y a fondements  pour  le  jugement  moral.  L’autre, 
le  materialiste,  repond : Qu’importe  comment  je 
juge,  puisque  vanitas  vanitatum  est  le  fond  de  tout? 
Le  dernier  mot  de  la  sagesse  aux  abois,  pour  celui-ci, 
e’est  anesthesie ; pour  celui-la,  energie. 

On  voit  que  le  probleme  a un  sens,  puisqu’il  com- 
porte  deux  solutions  contradictoires  dans  la 


77 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0878] 


pratique  de  la  vie.  Comment  savoir  5,  present  quelle 
solution  est  la  bonne?  Mais  comment  un  savant 
sait-il  si  son  hypothese  est  la  bonne?  II  la  prend 
pour  bonne  et  il  procede  aux  deductions,  il  agit 
en  consequence  de  ce  qu’il  a pose.  Tot  ou  tard  les 
suites  de  son  activite  le  detromperont,  si  son  point 
de  depart  a ete  pris  faussement.  N’en  est-il  pas  ici 
de  meme?  Nous  avons  tou jours  affaire  k M-\-r.  Si 
M,  en  sa  nature  intime,  est  moral  et  que  r soit 
fourni  par  un  materialiste,  ces  deux  elements  sont 
en  disaccord  et  ils  iront  s’ecartant  de  plus  en  plus 
l’un  de  l’autre.  La  meme  divergence  devra  s’accuser 
au  cas  que  l’agent  regie  sa  conduite  sur  la  croyance 
que  le  monde  est  un  fait  moral,  et  que  le  monde,  en 
realite,  ne  soit  qu’un  fait  brut,  une  somme  de  phd- 
nomenestoutmateriels.  Des  deux  parts,  il  y a attente 
trompee ; d’ou  la  necessity  d’hypotheses  subsidiaires, 
et  de  plus  en  plus  compliquees,  comme  celles  dont 
l’histoire  de  l’astronomie  nous  fournit  un  exemple 
dans  la  multiplicity  des  epicycles  qu’on  dut  imaginer 
pour  faire  cadrer  les  faits  de  mieux  en  mieux  ob- 
serves avec  le  systeme  de  Ptolemee.  Si  done  le 
partisan  du  monde  moral,  en  sa  croyance,  s’est 
determine  pour  l’hypothese  fausse,  il  eprouvera  une 
suite  de  mecomptes  et  n’arrivera  pas  definitiye- 
ment  la  paix  du  cceur;  il  restera  inconsole  dans 
ses  peines;  son  choix  tragique  ne  sera  pas  justifie. 

Dans  le  cas  contraire,  If+r  formant  une  barmonie 
et  non  plus  un  assemblage  d’elements  disparates, 
le  temps  irait  confirmant  l’liypotliese,  et  l’agent  qui 
l’aurait  embrassee  aurait  toujours  plus  de  raisons 


78 


[1878]  QUELQUES  considerations 


de  se  feliciter  de  son  choix:  il  nagerait  pour  ainsi 
dire  & pleines  voiles  dans  la  destinee  qu’il  se  serait 
faite. 

Le  rnoyen  est  done  le  meme  ici  que  dans  les 
sciences,  de  prouver  qu’nne  opinion  est  fondee,  et 
nous  n’en  connaissons  pas  d’autre.  Observons  seule- 
ment  que,  selon  les  questions,  le  temps  requis  pour 
la  verification  varie.  Telle  hypothese,  en  physique, 
sera  verifiee  au  bout  d’une  demi-heure.  Une  hypo- 
these comme  celle  du  transformisme  demandera 
plus  d’une  generation  pour  s’etablir  solidement,  et 
des  hypotheses  d’un  ordre  universel,  telles  que  celles 
dont  nous  parlons,  pourront  rester  sujettes  au  doute 
pendant  bien  des  si&cles  encore.  Mais  en  attendant 
il  faut  agir,  et  pour  agir  il  faut  choisir  son  hypo- 
these. Le  doute  meme  equivaut  souvent  k un  choix 
actif.  Du  moment  qu’on  est  oblige  d’opter,  il  n’y  a 
rien  de  plus  rationnel  que  de  donner  sa  preference  h 
celui  des  partis  a prendre  pour  lequel  on  se  sent 
le  plus  d’attrait,  quitte  ensuite  h se  voir  dementi 
et  condamne  par  la  nature  des  choses  si  l’on  a mal 
juge.  Au  resume  foi  et  working  hypothesis  sont 
ici  la  meme  chose.  Avec  le  temps,  la  verite  se 
devoilera. 

Je  peux  aller  plus  loin.  Je  demande  pourquoi 
le  materialisme  et  la  croyance  en  un  monde  moral 
ne  seraient  pas  Vun  comme  Vautre  verifiahles  de 
la  maniere  que  je  viens  de  dire?  Qu’est-ce,  en 
d’autres  termes,  qui  empeche  que  M ne  soit  essen- 
tiellement  ambigu  et  n’attende  de  son  complement 
r la  determination  ultime  qui  le  fera  ou  rentrer 


79 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0878] 


dans  nn  systeme  moral  on  se  reduire  h un  systeme 
de  fails  bruts? 

Le  cas  est  concevable.  Telle  ligne  peut  faire 
partie  d’un  nombre  infini  de  courbes,  tel  mot  peut 
entrer  dans  beaucoup  de  phrases  differentes.  Si 
nous  avions  affaire  un  cas  de  ce  genre,  il  pourrait 
dependre  de  r de  faire  penclier  la  balance  en  un  sens 
ou  en  Tautre.  Agissons,  je  suppose,  en  nous  in- 
spirant de  la  croyance  en  I’univers  moral:  cette 
verite  que  le  monde  est  chose  tres-serieuse  eclatera 
cliaque  jour  davantage.  Au  contraire,  agissons  en 
materialistes,  et  la  suite  des  temps  montrera  de 
plus  en  plus  que  le  monde  est  chose  frivole  et  que 
vanitas  vanitatum  est  bien  le  fond  de  tout.  Ainsi 
le  monde  sera  ce  que  nous  le  ferons. 

Et  qu’on  ne  me  dise  pas  qu’une  chose  infime 
telle  que  r ne  saurait  changer  du  tout  au  tout 
le  caractere  de  M,  cette  masse  immense.  Une  simple 
particule  negative  renverse  bien  le  sens  des  plus 
longues  phrases ! Si  l’on  avait  a definir  l’univers  au 
point  de  vue  de  la  sensibilite,  il  faudrait  ne  re- 
garder  qu’au  seul  regne  animal,  pourtant  si  pauvre 
comme  fait  quantitatif.  La  definition  morale  du 
monde  pourrait  dependre  de  phenomenes  plus  re- 
streints  encore.  Croyous  a ce  monde-la:  les  fruits 
de  notre  croyance  remedieront  aux  defauts  qui 
l’empechaient  d’etre.  Crojmns  qu’il  n’est  qu’une  idee 
vaine,  et  en  effet  il  sera  vain.  La  methode  subjec- 
tive est  ainsi  legitime  en  pratique  et  en  theorie. 

J’ai  deja  remarque  qu’il  n’etait  pas  question  de 
liberte  absolue  dans  les  exemples  que  j’ai  pris. 


80 


[1878]  QUELQUES  considerations 


Cette  liberte  peut  etre  ou  n’etre  pas  reellement. 
Mais  si  des  actes  libres  sont  possibles,  ils  peuvent 
se  produire  et  devenir  plus  frequents,  grace  h la 
methode  subjective.  En  effet,  la  foi  en  leur  pos- 
sibility augmente  l’energie  morale  qui  les  suscite. 
Mais  parler  de  liberte  dans  la  Critique  philosophi- 
que,  c’est  porter  de  l’or  en  Californie.  J’aime  done 
mieux  finir  et  me  resumer  en  disant  que  je  crois 
avoir  montre  dans  la  methode  subjective  autre 
chose  que  le  procede  qualifie  de  honteux  par  un 
etrange  abus  de  l’esprit  soi-disant  scientifique.  II 
faut  passer  outre  k cette  espece  de  proscription,  k 
ce  veto  ridicule  qui,  si  nous  voulions  nous  y con- 
former,  paralyserait  deux  de  nos  plus  essentielles 
facultes : celle  de  nous  proposer,  en  vertu  d’un  acte 
de  croyance,  un  but  qui  ne  peut  etre  atteint  que  par 
nos  propres  efforts,  et  celle  de  nous  porter  coura- 
geusement  a Faction  dans  les  cas  oti  le  succes  ne 
nous  est  pas  assure  d’avance. 

Croyez,  messieurs,  k la  sympatliie  tres-parti- 
culiere  avec  laquelle  je  suis,  votre  tout  devoue, 

Wm.  James. 

Harvard  College , Cambridge  (Mass.),  Etats-Unis 
d’Amerique,  20  nov.  1877. 

1 L’auteur  du  tres-remarquable  article  qu’on  vient 
de  lire  fait  k la  Critique  philosophique  beaucoup 

P This  note,  as  well  as  that  above  on  p.  74,  was  presumably 
written  by  Charles  Renouvier,  who  was  at  this  time  editor  of 
the  Critique  Philosophique.  Cf.  above,  p.  26,  note.  Ed.] 


81 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1878] 


d’honneur  en  voulant  bien  s’etonner  de  ce  qu’il  n’a 
pas  encore  rencontre  l’expression  de  ses  propres  pen- 
sees  totidem  verbis  dans  nos  pages.  II  est  yrai 
qu’elles  sont  en  tout  conformes  h la  methode  criti- 
ciste  et  nous  nous  estimerions  heureux  de  pouvoir 
les  signer.  Mais  la  maniere  dont  elles  sont  presen- 
tees, la  forme  originale  du  raisonnement  etla  saveur  k 
la  fois  delicate  et  forte  des  legons  donnees  h.  la  fausse 
science  par  un  homme  qui  est  fort  au  courant  de  la 
vraie,  impriment  un  reel  cacbet  de  personnalit6  h 
cette  justification  de  la  “methode  subjective.”  Nous 
sommes  bien  surs  que  nos  lecteurs  seront  de  notre 
avis,  dussent-ils  faire  leurs  reserves  sur  un  point  ou 
sur  un  autre,  ou  plutot  reclamer  des  eclaircisse- 
ments  qui  parfois  ne  seraient  pas  de  trop.  Quant 
fi  nous,  nous  ne  manquerons  pas  de  reprendre  ce 
grand  sujet  et  d’essayer  d’aj outer  aux  ingenieuses 
demonstrations  de  M.  Wm.  James,  quelques-uns  des 
nombreux  commentaires  qu’elles  sont  de  nature 
appeler. 


82 


X 


THE  SENTIMENT  OF  RATIONALITY1 

[1879] 

I 

What  is  the  task  which  philosophers  set  them- 
selves to  perform?  And  why  do  they  philosophise 
at  all?  Almost  every  one  will  immediately  reply: 
They  desire  to  attain  a conception  of  the  frame  of 
things  which  shall  on  the  whole  be  more  rational 
than  the  rather  fragmentary  and  chaotic  one  which 
everyone  by  gift  of  nature  carries  about  with  him 
under  his  hat.  But  suppose  this  rational  concep- 
tion attained  by  the  philosopher,  how  is  he  to  rec- 
ognise it  for  what  it  is,  and  not  let  it  slip  through 
ignorance?  The  only  answer  can  be  that  he  will 
recognise  its  rationality  as  he  recognises  everything 
else,  by  certain  subjective  marks  with  which  it  af- 

P Reprinted  from  Mind , 1879,  4,  317-346.  It  was  translated 
into  French  with  a note  of  tribute  by  C.  Renouvier,  in  Critique 
Philosopliique,  1879,  8me  annde,  2,  72-89 ; 113-118 ; 129-136. 
Portions  were  combined  with  “Rationality,  Activity  and  Faith” 
( Princeton  Review,  1882,  2,  58-86)  to  form  the  essay  entitled 
“The  Sentiment  of  Rationality”  in  TJie  Will  to  Believe  and  other 
Essays  (1897).  For  the  hearing  of  this  present  essay  on  James’s 
general  plan,  cf.  the  author’s  note  on  p.  136,  below.  The  statement 
of  instrumentalism  on  pp.  86-88  below  was  reprinted  as  a note 
in  the  Principles  of  Psychology  (1890),  2,  pp.  335-336.  Pencilled 
corrections  by  the  author  made  in  the  copy  of  Mind  belonging 
to  the  Harvard  College  Library  have  been  adopted  in  the 
present  reprinting.  Ed.] 


83 


I 

COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  KEVIEWS  0879] 

fects  him.  When  he  gets  the  marks  he  may  know 
that  he  has  got  the  rationality. 

What  then  are  the  marks?  A strong  feeling  of 
ease,  peace,  rest,  is  one  of  them.  The  transition 
from  a state  of  puzzle  and  perplexity  to  rational 
comprehension  is  full  of  lively  relief  and  pleasure. 

But  this  relief  seems  to  be  a negative  rather  than 
a positive  character.  Shall  we  then  say  that  the 
feeling  of  rationality  is  constituted  merely  by  the 
absence  of  any  feeling  of  irrationality?  I think 
there  are  very  good  grounds  for  upholding  such  a 
view.  All  feeling  whatever,  in  the  light  of  certain 
recent  psychological  speculations,  seems  to  depend 
for  its  physical  condition  not  on  simple  discharge 
of  nerve-currents,  but  on  their  discharge  under 
arrest,  impediment  or  resistance.  Just  as  we  feel 
no  particular  pleasure  when  we  breathe  freely,  but 
a very  intense  feeling  of  distress  when  the  respira- 
tory motions  are  prevented;  so  any  unobstructed 
tendency  to  action  discharges  itself  without  the  pro- 
duction of  much  cogitative  accompaniment,  and 
any  perfectly  fluent  course  of  thought  awakens  but 
little  feeling.  But  when  the  movement  is  inhibited 
or  when  the  thought  meets  with  difficulties,  we  ex- 
perience a distress  which  yields  to  an  opposite 
feeling  of  pleasure  as  fast  as  the  obstacle  is  over- 
come. It  is  only  when  the  distress  is  upon  us  that 
we  can  be  said  to  strive,  to  crave,  or  to  aspire.  When 
enjoying  plenary  freedom  to  energise  either  in  the 
way  of  motion  or  of  thought,  we  are  in  a sort  of 
anaesthetic  state  in  which  we  might  say  with  Walt 


84 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  rationality 


Whitman,  if  we  cared  to  say  anything  about  our- 
selves at  such  times,  “I  am  sufficient  as  I am”.  This 
feeling  of  the  sufficiency  of  the  present  moment,  of 
its  absoluteness — this  absence  of  all  need  to  explain 
it,  account  for  it  or  justify  it — is  what  I call  the 
Sentiment  of  Rationality.  As  soon,  in  short,  as  we  • 
are  enabled  from  any  cause  whatever  to  think  of  a 
thing  with  perfect  fluency,  that  thing  seems  to  us 
rational. 

Why  we  should  constantly  gravitate  towards  the 
attainment  of  such  fluency  cannot  here  be  said.  As  ' 
this  is  not  an  ethical  but  a psychological  essay,  it 
is  quite  sufficient  for  our  purposes  to  lay  it  down 
as  an  empirical  fact  that  we  strive  to  formulate  ra- 
tionally a tangled  mass  of  fact  by  a propensity  as 
natural  and  invincible  as  that  which  makes  us  ex- 
change a hard  high  stool  for  an  arm-chair  or  prefer 
travelling  by  railroad  to  riding  in  a springless  cart. 

Whatever  modes  of  conceiving  the  cosmos  facili- 
tate this  fluency  of  our  thought,  produce  the  senti- 
ment of  rationality.  Conceived  in  such  modes 
Being  vouches  for  itself  and  needs  no  further  philo- 
sophic formulation.  But  so  long  as  mutually  ob-  • 
structive  elements  are  involved  in  the  conception, 
the  pent-up  irritated  mind  recoiling  on  its  present 
consciousness  will  criticise  it,  worry  over  it,  and 
never  cease  in  its  attempts  to  discover  some  new 
mode  of  formulation  which  may  give  it  escape  from 
the  irrationality  of  its  actual  ideas. 

Now  mental  ease  and  freedom  may  be  obtained  in  * 
various  ways.  Nothing  is  more  familiar  than  the  * 


85 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 


way  in  which  mere  custom  makes  us  at  home  with 
ideas  or  circumstances  which,  when  new,  filled  the 
mind  with  curiosity  and  the  need  of  explanation. 
There  is  no  more  common  sight  than  that  of  men's 
mental  worry  about  things  incongruous  with  per- 
sonal desire,  and  their  thoughtless  incurious  ac- 
ceptance of  whatever  happens  to  harmonise  with 
their  subjective  ends.  The  existence  of  evil  forms 
a “mystery” — a “problem” : there  is  no  “problem 
of  happiness”.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  purely 
theoretic  processes  may  produce  the  same  mental 
peace  which  custom  and  congruity  with  our  native 
impulses  in  other  cases  give ; and  we  have  forthwith 
to  discover  how  it  is  that  so  many  processes  can 
produce  the  same  result,  and  how  Philosophy,  by 
emulating  or  using  the  means  of  all,  may  attain 
to  a conception  of  the  world  which  shall  be  rational 
in  the  maximum  degree,  or  be  warranted  in  the  most 
composite  manner  against  the  inroads  of  mental 
unrest  or  discontent. 

II 

It  will  be  best  to  take  up  first  the  theoretic  way. 
The  facts  of  the  world  in  their  sensible  diversity 
are  always  before  us,  but  the  philosophic  need 
craves  that  they  should  be  conceived  in  such  a way 
as  to  satisfy  the  sentiment  of  rationality.  The 
philosophic  quest  then  is  the  quest  of  a conception. 
What  now  is  a conception?  It  is  a teleological 
instrument.  It  is  a partial  aspect  of  a thing 
which  for  our  purpose  we  regard  as  its  essen- 


86 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  rationality. 


tial  aspect,  as  the  representative  of  the  entire 
thing.  In  comparison  with  this  aspect,  whatever 
other  properties  and  qualities  the  thing  may  have, 
are  unimportant  accidents  which  we  may  without 
blame  ignore.  But  the  essence,  the  ground  of  con-  * 
ception,  varies  with  the  end  we  have  in  view.  A 1 
substance  like  oil  has  as  many  different  essences  as 
it  has  uses  to  different  individuals.  One  man  con-  ^ 
ceives  it  as  a combustible,  another  as  a lubricator, 
another  as  a food;  the  chemist  thinks  of  it  as  a 
hydro-carbon ; the  furniture-maker  as  a darkener  of 
wood ; the  speculator  as  a commodity  whose  market 
price  to-day  is  this  and  to-morrow  that.  The  soap- x/ 
boiler,  the  physicist,  the  clothes-scourer  severally 
ascribe  to  it  other  essences  in  relation  to  their 
needs.  Ueberweg’s  doctrine1  that  the  essential  * 
quality  of  a thing  is  the  quality  of  most  worth , is 
strictly  true;  but  Ueberweg  has  failed  to  note  that 
the  worth  is  wholly  relative  to  the  temporary  in- 
terests of  the  conceiver.  And,  even,  when  his  in-  * 
terest  is  distinctly  defined  in  his  own  mind,  the 
discrimination  of  the  quality  in  the  object  which 
has  the  closest  connexion  with  it,  is  a thing  which 
no  rules  can  teach.  The  only  a priori  advice  that 
can  be  given  to  a man  embarking  on  life  with  a 
certain  purpose  is  the  somewhat  barren  counsel : 
Be  sure  that  in  the  circumstances  that  meet  you, 
you  attend  to  the  right  ones  for  your  purpose.  To  ' 
pick  out  the  right  ones  is  the  measure  of  the  man. 
“Millions,”  says  Hartmann,  “stare  at  the  phenome- 


1 Logic,  English  tr.,  p.  139. 

87 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 


non  before  a genialer  Kopf  pounces  on  the  con- 
■ cept.”1  The  genius  is  simply  he  to  whom,  when  he 
opens  his  eyes  upon  the  world,  the  “right”  charac- 
' ters  are  the  prominent  ones.  The  fool  is  he  who, 
with  the  same  purposes  as  the  genius,  infallibly  gets 
his  attention  tangled  amid  the  accidents. 

• Schopenhauer  expresses  well  this  ultimate  truth 
when  he  says  that  Intuition  (by  which  in  this  pas- 
sage he  means  the  power  to  distinguish  at  a glance  the 
essence  amid  the  accidents)  “is  not  only  the  source 
of  all  knowledge,  but  is  knowledge  e^X1!7 

• ...  is  real  insight.  . . . Wisdom,  the  true  view  of 
life,  the  right  look  at  things,  and  the  judgment  that 
hits  the  mark,  proceed  from  the  mode  in  which  the 
man  conceives  the  world  whicli  lies  before  him. 
. . . He  who  excels  in  this  talent  knows  the  (Pla- 

• tonic)  ideas  of  the  world  and  of  life.  Every  case 
he  looks  at  stands  for  countless  cases;  more  and 
more  he  goes  on  to  conceive  of  each  thing  in  accord- 
ance with  its  true  nature,  and  his  acts  like  his  judg- 

• ments  bear  the  stamp  of  his  insight.  Gradually 
his  face  too  acquires  the  straight  and  piercing  look, 
the  expression  of  reason,  and  at  last  of  wisdom. 

’ For  the  direct  sight  of  essences  alone  can  set  its 

• mark  upon  the  face.  Abstract  knowledge  about 
them  has  no  such  effect.”2 

The  right  conception  for  the  philosopher  depends 
’ then  on  his  interests.  Now  the  interest  which  he 
has  above  other  men  is  that  of  reducing  the  mani- 

1 Philosophic  des  TJnhewussten,  2te  Auflage,  p.  249. 

2 Welt  als  Wille  u.  Vorstellung,  II.,  p.  83. 


88 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  rationality 


fold  in  thought  to  simple  form.  We  can  no  more  * 
say  why  the  philosopher  is  more  peculiarly  sensitive 
to  this  delight,  than  we  can  explain  the  passion 
some  persons  have  for  matching  colours  or  for  ar- 
ranging cards  in  a game  of  solitaire.  All  these  pas- 
sions resemble  each  other  in  one  point;  they  are 
all  illustrations  of  what  may  be  called  the  aesthetic 
Principle  of  Ease.  Our  pleasure  at  finding  that  * 
a chaos  of  facts  is  at  bottom  the  expression  of  a 
single  underlying  fact  is  like  the  relief  of  the  mu- 
sician at  resolving  a confused  mass  of  sound  into 
melodic  or  harmonic  order.  The  simplified  result  * 
is  handled  with  far  less  mental  effort  than  the 
original  data;  and  a philosophic  conception  of  na- 
ture is  thus  in  no  metaphorical  sense  a labour- 
saving  contrivance.  The  passion  for  parsimony, 
for  economy  of  means  in  thought,  is  thus  the  philo- 
sophic passion  par  excellence,  and  any  character  or 
aspect  of  the  world’s  phenomena  which  gathers  up 
their  diversity  into  simplicity  will  gratify  that 
passion,  and  in  the  philosopher’s  mind  stand  for 
that  essence  of  things  compared  with  which  all  their 
other  determinations  may  by  him  be  overlooked. 

Mere  universality  or  extensiveness  is  then  the  one  * 
mark  the  philosopher’s  conceptions  must  possess. 
Unless  they  appear  in  an  enormous  number  of  cases  • 
they  will  not  bring  the  relief  which  is  his  main 
theoretic  need.  The  knowledge  of  things  by  their  • 
causes,  which  is  often  given  as  a definition  of  ra- 
tional knowledge,  is  useless  to  him  unless  the  causes 
converge  to  a minimum  number  whilst  still  pro- 


89 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  f1879l 


‘ during  the  maximum  number  of  effects.  The  more 
multiple  are  the  instances  he  can  see  to  be  cases  of 
his  fundamental  concept,  the  more  flowingly  does 

* his  mind  rove  from  fact  to  fact  in  the  world.  The 
phenomenal  transitions  are  no  real  transitions; 
each  item  is  the  same  old  friend  with  a slightly 

• altered  dress.  This  passion  for  unifying  things  may 
gratify  itself,  as  we  all  know,  at  truth’s  expense. 

• Everyone  has  friends  bent  on  system  and  everyone 
has  observed  how,  when  their  system  has  once  taken 
definite  shape,  they  become  absolutely  blind  and 
insensible  to  the  most  flagrant  facts  which  cannot 

* be  made  to  fit  into  it.  The  ignoring  of  data  is,  in 
fact,  the  easiest  and  most  popular  mode  of  obtaining 
unity  in  one’s  thought. 

But  leaving  these  vulgar  excesses  let  us  glance 
briefly  at  some  more  dignified  contemporary  ex- 
amples of  the  hypertrophy  of  the  unifying  passion. 

Its  ideal  goal  gets  permanent  expression  in  the 
great  notion  of  Substance,  the  underlying  One  in 
which  all  differences  are  reconciled.  D’Alembert’s 
often  quoted  lines  express  the  postulate  in  its  most 
abstract  shape:  “L’univers  pour  qui  saurait  l’em- 
brasser  d’un  seul  point  de  vue  ne  serait,  s’il  est 
permis  de  le  dire,  qu’un  fait  unique  et  une  grande 
verite.”  Accordingly  Mr.  Spencer,  after  saying  on 
page  158  of  the  first  volume  of  his  Psychology,  that 
“no  effort  enables  us  to  assimilate  Feeling  and 
Motion,  they  have  nothing  in  common,”  cannot  re- 
frain on  page  162  from  invoking  abruptly  an  “Un- 
conditional Being  common  to  the  two”. 


90 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  eationality 


The  craving  for  Monism  at  any  cost  is  the  parent  * 
of  the  entire  evolutionist  movement  of  our  day,  so 
far  as  it  pretends  to  be  more  than  history.  The 
Philosophy  of  Evolution  tries  to  show  how  the 
world  at  any  given  time  may  be  conceived  as  abso- 
lutely identical,  except  in  appearance,  with  itself 
at  all  past  times.  What  it  most  abhors  is  the  ad- 
mission of  anything  which,  appearing  at  a given 
point,  should  be  judged  essentially  other  than  what 
went  before.  Notwithstanding  the  lacunas  in  Mr. 
Spencer’s  system;  notwith standing  the  vagueness 
of  his  terms;  in  spite  of  the  sort  of  jugglery  by 
which  his  use  of  the  word  “nascent”  is  made  to 
veil  the  introduction  of  new  primordial  factors  like 
consciousness,  as  if,  like  the  girl  in  Midshipman 
Easy , he  could  excuse  the  illegitimacy  of  an  infant, 
by  saying  it  was  a very  little  one — in  spite  of  all 
this,  I say,  Mr.  Spencer  is,  and  is  bound  to  be,  the 
most  popular  of  all  philosophers,  because  more  than 
any  other  he  seeks  to  appease  our  strongest  theo- 
retic craving.  To  undiscriminating  minds  his  sys- 
tem will  be  a sop ; to  acute  ones  a programme  full 
of  suggestiveness. 

When  Lewes  asserts  in  one  place  that  the  nerve- 
process  and  the  feeling  which  accompanies  it  are 
not  two  things  but  only  two  “aspects”  of  one  and 
the  same  thing,  whilst  in  other  passages  he  seems 
to  imply  that  the  cognitive  feeling  and  the  outward 
thing  cognised  (which  is  always  other  than  the 
nerve-process  accompanying  the  cognitive  act)  are 
again  one  thing  in  two  aspects  (giving  us  thereby 


91 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 


as  the  ultimate  truth  One  Thing  in  Three  Aspects, 
very  much  as  Trinitarian  Christians  affirm  it  to  be 
One  God  in  Three  Persons), — the  vagueness  of  his 
mode  only  testifies  to  the  imperiousness  of  his  need 
of  unity. 

The  crowning  feat  of  unification  at  any  cost  is 
seen  in  the  Hegelian  denial  of  the  Principle  of  Con- 
tradiction. One  who  is  willing  to  allow  that  A 
and  not-A  are  one,  can  be  checked  by  few  farther 
difficulties  in  Philosophy. 

Ill 

But  alongside  of  the  passion  for  simplification, 
there  exists  a sister  passion  which  in  some  minds — 
though  they  perhaps  form  the  minority — is  its  rival. 
' This  is  the  passion  for  distinguishing;  it  is  the  im- 
pulse to  be  acquainted  with  the  parts  rather  than 
* to  comprehend  the  whole.  Loyalty  to  clearness  and 
integrity  of  perception,  dislike  of  blurred  outlines, 
of  vague  identifications,  are  its  characteristics.  It 
loves  to  recognise  particulars  in  their  full  complete- 
ness, and  the  more  of  these  it  can  carry  the  happier 
it  is.  It  is  the  mind  of  Cuvier  versus  St.  Hilaire, 
of  Hume  versus  Spinoza.  It  prefers  any  amount  of 
incoherence,  abruptness  and  fragmentariness  (so 
long  as  the  literal  details  of  the  separate  facts  are 
saved)  to  a fallacious  unity  which  swamps  things 
rather  than  explains  them. 

Clearness  versus  Simplicity  is  then  the  theoretic 
dilemma,  and  a man’s  philosophic  attitude  is  de- 


92 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  rationality 


termined  by  the  balance  in  him  of  these  two  crav- 
ings. When  John  Mill  insists  that  the  ultimate 
laws  of  nature  cannot  possibly  be  less  numerous 
than  the  distinguishable  qualities  of  sensation 
which  we  possess,  he  speaks  in  the  name  of  this 
aesthetic  demand  for  clearness.  When  Professor  Bain 
says1 : — “There  is  surely  nothing  to  be  dissatisfied 
with,  or  to  complain  of  in  the  circumstance  that 
the  elements  of  our  experience  are  in  the  last  resort 
two  and  not  one.  . . . Instead  of  our  being  ‘un- 
fortunate’ in  not  being  able  to  know  the  essence  of 
either  matter  or  mind — in  not  comprehending  their 
union,  our  misfortune  would  rather  be  to  have  to 
know  anything  different  from  what  we  do  know,” — 
he  is  animated  by  a like  motive.  All  makers  of 
architectonic  systems  like  that  of  Kant,  all  multi- 
pliers of  original  principles,  all  dislikers  of  vague 
monotony,  whether  it  bear  the  character  of  Eleatic 
stagnancy  or  of  Heraclitic  change,  obey  this  ten- 
dency. Ultimate  kinds  of  feeling  bound  together  in 
harmony  by  laws,  which  themselves  are  ultimate 
kinds  of  relation,  form  the  theoretic  resting-place 
of  such  philosophers. 

The  unconditional  demand  which  this  need  makes 
of  a philosophy  is  that  its  fundamental  terms  should 
be  representable.  Phenomena  are  analysable  into 
feelings  and  relations.  Causality  is  a relation  be- 
tween two  feelings.  To  abstract  the  relation  from 
the  feelings,  to  unify  all  things  by  referring  them 
to  a first  cause,  and  to  leave  this  latter  relation 

'“On  Mystery,  etc.”  Fortnightly  Review,  Vol.  IV.  N.S.,  p.  394. 

93 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  KEVIEWS  0879] 

with  no  term  of  feeling  before  it,  is  to  violate  the 
fundamental  habits  of  our  thinking,  to  baffle  the  im- 
agination, and  to  exasperate  the  minds  of  certain 
people  much  as  everyone’s  eye  is  exasperated  by  a 
magic-lantern  picture  or  a microscopic  object  out  of 
focus.  Sharpen  it,  we  say,  or  for  heaven’s  sake  re- 
move it  altogether. 

The  matter  is  not  at  all  helped  when  the  word 
Substance  is  brought  forward  and  the  primordial 
causality  said  to  obtain  between  this  and  the  phe- 
nomena ; for  Substance  in  se  cannot  be  directly  im- 
aged by  feeling,  and  seems  in  fact  but  to  be  a pecul- 
iar form  of  relation  between  feelings — the  relation 
of  organic  union  between  a group  of  them  and  time. 
Such  relations,  represented  as  non-phenomenal  enti- 
ties, become  thus  the  bete  noire  and  pet  aversion  of 
many  thinkers.  By  being  posited  as  existent  they 
challenge  our  acquaintance  but  at  the  same  instant 
defy  it  by  being  defined  as  noumenal.  So  far  is  this 
reaction  against  the  treatment  of  relational  terms 
as  metempirical  entities  carried,  that  the  reigning 
British  school  seems  to  deny  their  function  even  in 
their  legitimate  sphere,  namely  as  phenomenal  ele- 
ments or  “laws”  cementing  the  mosaic  of  our  feel- 
ings into  coherent  form.  Time,  likeness,  and  un- 
likeness are  the  only  phenomenal  relations  our 
v English  empiricists  can  tolerate.  One  of  the 
earliest  and  perhaps  the  most  famous  expression 
of  the  dislike  to  relations  considered  abstractedly 
is  the  well-known  passage  from  Hume:  “When  we 
run  over  libraries,  persuaded  of  these  principles,, 


94 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  rationality 


what  havoc  must  we  make ! If  we  take  in  onr  hand 
any  volume  of  divinity  or  school  metaphysic,  for 
instance,  let  us  ask,  Does  it  contain  any  abstract 
reasoning  concerning  quantity  or  number?  No. 
Does  it  contain  any  experimental  reasoning  con- 
cerning matter  of  fact  existence?  No.  Commit  it 
then  to  the  flames:  for  it  can  contain  nothing  but 
sophistry  and  illusion.”1 

Many  are  the  variations  which  succeeding  writers 
have  played  on  this  tune.  As  we  spoke  of  the  ex- 
cesses of  the  unifying  passion,  so  we  may  now  say 
of  the  craving  for  clear  representability  that  it 
leads  often  to  an  unwillingness  to  treat  any  abstrac- 
tions whatever  as  if  they  were  intelligible.  Even 
to  talk  of  space,  time,  feeling,  power,  &c.,  oppresses 
them  with  a strange  sense  of  uncanniness.  Any- 
thing to  be  real  for  them  must  be  representable  in 
the  form  of  a lump.  Its  other  concrete  determi- 
nations may  be  abstracted  from,  but  its  tangible 
thinghood  must  remain.  Minds  of  this  order,  if 
they  can  be  brought  to  psychologise  at  all,  abound 
in  such  phrases  as  “tracts”  of  consciousness, 
“areas”  of  emotion,  “molecules”  of  feeling,  “agglu- 
tinated portions”  of  thought,  “gangs”  of  ideas,  &c., 
&c. 

Those  who  wish  an  amusing  example  of  this  style 
of  thought  should  read  Le  Cerveau  by  the  anatomist 
Luys,  surely  the  very  worst  book  ever  written  on 
the  much-abused  subject  of  mental  physiology.  In 
another  work,  Psychologie  realiste,  by  P.  Sierebois 

1 Essays,  ed.  Green  and  Grose,  II.,  p.  135. 

95 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 


(Paris  1876),  it  is  maintained  that  “our  ideas  exist 
in  us  in  a molecular  condition,  and  are  subject  to 
continual  movements.  . . . Their  mobility  is  as 
great  as  that  of  the  molecules  of  air  or  any  gas.” 
When  we  fail  to  recall  a word  it  is  because  our  ideas 
are  hid  in  some  distant  corner  of  the  brain  whence 
they  cannot  come  to  the  muscles  of  articulation,  or 
else  “they  have  lost  their  ordinary  fluidity”.  . . . 
“These  ideal  molecules  are  material  portions  of  the 
brain  which  differs  from  all  other  matter  precisely 
in  this  property  which  it  possesses  of  subdividing 
itself  into  very  attenuated  portions  which  easily 
take  on  the  likeness  in  form  and  quality  of  all  ex- 
ternal objects.”  In  other  words,  when  I utter  the 
word  ‘rhinoceros’  an  actual  little  microscopic 
rhinoceros  gallops  towards  my  mouth. 

A work  of  considerable  acuteness,  far  above  the 
vulgar  materialistic  level,  is  that  of  Czolbe,  Grund- 
ziige  einer  extensionalen  Erkenntnisstheorie  (1875). 
This  author  explains  our  ideas  to  be  extended  sub- 
stances endowed  with  mutual  penetrability.  The 
matter  of  which  they  are  composed  is  “elastic  like 
india-rubber”.  When  “concentrated”  by  “mag- 
netic self-attraction”  into  the  middle  of  the  brain, 
its  “intensity”  is  such  that  it  becomes  conscious. 
When  the  attraction  ceases,  the  idea-substance  ex- 
pands and  diffuses  itself  into  infinite  space  and  so 
sinks  from  consciousness. 

Again  passing  over  these  qwcm-pathological  ex- 
cesses, we  come  to  a permanent  and,  for  our  purpose, 
most  important  fact — the  fact  that  many  minds  of 


96 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  rationality 


the  highest  analytic  power  will  tolerate  in  Philoso- 
phy no  unifying  terms  but  elements  immanent  in 
phenomena,  and  taken  in  their  phenomenal  and  rep- 
resentable sense.  Entities  whose  attributes  are  not 
directly  given  in  feeling,  phenomenal  relations 
functioning  as  entities,  are  alike  rejected.  Spino- 
zistic  Substance,  Spencerian  Unknowable,  are  ab- 
horred as  unrepresentable  things,  numerically  addi- 
tional to  the  representable  world.  The  substance 
of  things  for  these  clear  minds  can  be  no  more  than 
their  common  measure.  The  phenomena  bear  to  it 
the  same  relation  that  the  different  numbers  bear 
to  unity.  These  contain  no  other  matter  than  the 
repeated  unit,  but  they  may  be  classed  as  prime 
numbers,  odd  numbers,  even  numbers,  square  num- 
bers, cube  numbers,  &c.,  just  as  truly  and  naturally 
as  we  class  concrete  things.  The  molecular  motions, 
of  which  physicists  hope  that  some  day  all  events 
and  properties  will  be  seen  to  consist,  form  such  an 
immanent  unity  of  colossal  simplifying  power.  The 
“infinitesimal  event”  of  various  modern  writers, 
Taine  for  example,  with  its  two  “aspects,”  inner 
and  outer,  reaches  still  farther  in  the  same  direc- 
tion. Writers  of  this  class,  if  they  deal  with  Psy- 
chology, repudiate  the  “soul”  as  a scholastic  entity. 
The  phenomenal  unity  of  consciousness  must  flow 
from  some  element  immutably  present  in  each  and 
every  representation  of  the  individual  and  binding 
the  whole  into  one.  To  unearth  and  accurately  de- 
fine this  phenomenal  self  becomes  one  of  the  funda- 
mental tasks  of  Psychology. 


97 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  i1879l 

But  the  greatest  living  insister  on  the  principle 
that  unity  in  our  account  of  things  shall  not  over- 
whelm clearness,  is  Charles  Renouvier.  His  mas- 
terly exposition  of  the  irreducible  categories  of 
thought  in  his  Essais  de  Critique  generate  ought 
to  be  far  better  known  among  us  than  it  is.  The  on- 
slaughts which  this  eminently  clear-headed  writer 
has  made  and  still  makes  in  his  weekly  journal, 
the  Critique  Philosophique , on  the  vanity  of  the 
evolutionary  principle  of  simplification,  which  sup- 
poses that  you  have  explained  away  all  distinctions 
by  simply  saying  “they  arise”  instead  of  “they  are,” 
form  the  ablest  criticism  which  the  school  of  Evolu- 
tion has  received.  Difference  “thus  displaced,  trans- 
ported from  the  esse  to  the  fieri , is  it  any  the  less 
postulated?  And  does  the  -fieri  itself  receive  the 
least  commencement  of  explanation  when  we  sup- 
pose that  everything  which  occurs,  occurs  little  by 
little,  by  insensible  degrees,  so  that,  if  we  look  at 
any  one  of  these  degrees,  what  happens  does  so  as 
easily  and  clearly  as  if  it  did  not  happen  at  all?  . . . 
If  we  want  a continuous  production  ex  nihilo,  why 
not  say  so  frankly,  and  abandon  the  idea  of  a 
‘transition  without  break’  which  explains  really 
nothing?”1 

1 Critique  Philosophique,  12  Juillet,  1877,  p.  383. 


98 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  rationality 


IV 

Our  first  conclusion  may  then  he  this:  No  sys- 
tem of  philosophy  can  hope  to  be  universally  ac- 
cepted among  men  which  grossly  violates  either  of 
the  two  great  aesthetic  needs  of  our  logical  nature, 
the  need  of  unity  and  the  need  of  clearness,  or 
entirely  subordinates  the  one  to  the  other.  Doc- 
trines of  mere  disintegration  like  that  of  Hume  and 
his  successors,  will  be  as  widely  unacceptable  on 
the  one  hand  as  doctrines  of  merely  engulphing  sub- 
stantialism  like  those  of  Schopenhauer,  Hartmann 
and  Spencer  on  the  other.  Can  we  for  our  own 
guidance  briefly  sketch  out  here  some  of  the  con- 
ditions of  most  favourable  compromise? 

In  surveying  the  connexions  between  data  we  are 
immediately  struck  by  the  fact  that  some  are  more 
intimate  than  others.  Propositions  which  express 
those  we  call  necessary  truths;  and  with  them  we 
contrast  the  laxer  collocations  and  sequences  which 
are  known  as  empirical,  habitual  or  merely  fortui- 
tous. The  former  seem  to  have  an  inward  reason- 
ableness which  the  latter  are  deprived  of.  The  link, 
whatever  it  be,  which  binds  the  two  phenomena  to- 
gether, seems  to  extend  from  the  heart  of  one  into 
the  heart  of  the  next,  and  to  be  an  essential  reason 
why  the  facts  should  always  and  indefeasibly  be  as 
we  now  know  them.  “Within  the  pale  we  stand.” 
As  Lotze  says1 : “The  intellect  is  not  satisfied  with 
merely  associated  representations.  In  its  constant 

1 Mierocosmus,  2d  ed.  I.,  p.  261. 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 


critical  activity  thought  seeks  to  refer  each  repre- 
sentation to  the  rational  ground  which  conditions 
the  alliance  of  what  is  associated  and  proves  that 
what  is  grouped  belongs  together.  So  it  separates 
from  each  other  those  impressions  which  merely 
coalesce  without  inward  connexions,  and  it  renews 
(while  corroborating  them)  the  bonds  of  those 
which,  by  the  inward  kinship  of  their  content,  have 
a right  to  permanent  companionship.” 

On  the  other  hand  many  writers  seem  to  deny  the 
existence  of  any  such  inward  kinship  or  rational 
bond  between  things.  Hume  says : “All  our  distinct 
perceptions  are  distinct  existences  and  the  mind 
never  perceives  any  real  connexion  among  distinct 
existences.”1 

Hume’s  followers  are  less  bold  in  their  utterances 
than  their  master,  but  throughout  all  recent  British 
Nominalism  we  find  the  tendency  to  enthrone  mere 
juxtaposition  as  lord  of  all  and  to  make  of  the 
Universe  what  has  well  been  styled  a Nulliverse. 
“For  my  part,”  says  Professor  Huxley,  “I  utterly  re- 
pudiate and  anathematise  the  intruder  [Necessity]. 
Fact  I know;  and  Law  I know;  but  what  is  this 
Necessity,  save  an  empty  shadow  of  the  mind’s  own 
throwing?” 

And  similarly  J.  S.  Mill  writes : “What  is  called 
explaining  one  law  by  another  is  but  substituting 
one  mystery  for  another,  and  does  nothing  to  render 
the  course  of  nature  less  mysterious.  We  can  no 
more  assign  a why  for  the  more  extensive  laws  than 

1 Treatise  on  Human  Nature , ed.  T.  H.  Green,  I.,  p.  559. 

100 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  eationality 


for  the  partial  ones.  The  explanation  may  substi- 
tute a mystery  which  has  become  familiar  and  has 
grown  to  seem  not  mysterious  for  one  which  is  still 
strange.  And  this  is  the  meaning  of  explanation  in 
common  parlance.  . . . The  laws  thus  explained  or 
resolved  are  said  to  be  accounted  for;  but  the  ex- 
pression is  incorrect  if  taken  to  mean  anything  more 
than  what  has  been  stated.”1 

And  yet  the  very  pertinacity  with  which  such 
writers  remind  us  that  our  explanations  are  in  a 
strict  sense  of  the  word  no  explanations  at  all ; that 
our  causes  never  unfold  the  essential  nature  of  their 
effects;  that  we  never  seize  the  inward  reason  why 
attributes  cluster  as  they  do  to  form  things,  seems 
to  prove  that  they  possess  in  their  minds  some  ideal 
or  pattern  of  what  a genuine  explanation  would  be 
like  in  case  they  should  meet  it.  How  could  they 
brand  our  current  explanations  as  spurious,  if  they 
had  no  positive  notion  whatever  of  the  real  thing? 

Now  have  we  the  real  thing?  And  yet  may  they 
be  partly  right  in  their  denials?  Surely  both;  and 
I think  that  the  shares  of  truth  may  be  easily  as- 
signed. Our  “laws”  are  to  a great  extent  but  facts 
of  larger  growth,  and  yet  things  are  inwardly  and 
necessarily  connected  notwithstanding.  The  entire 
process  of  philosophic  simplification  of  the  chaos  of 
sense  consists  of  two  acts,  Identification  and  Asso- 
ciation. Both  are  principles  of  union  and  therefore 
of  theoretic  rationality ; but  the  rationality  between 
things  associated  is  outward  and  custom-bred.  Only 

1 Logic,  8th  Edition,  I.,  p.  549. 

101 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 


when  things  are  identified  do  we  pass  inwardly  and 
necessarily  from  one  to  the  other. 

The  first  step  towards  unifying  the  chaos  is  to 
classify  its  items.  ‘‘Every  concrete  thing,”  says 
Professor  Bain,  “falls  into  as  many  classes  as  it  has 
attributes.”1  When  we  pick  out  a certain  attribute 
to  conceive  it  by,  we  literally  and  strictly  identify  it 
in  that  respect  with  the  other  concretes  of  the  class 
having  that  attribute  for  its  essence,  concretes 
which  the  attribute  recalls.  When  we  conceive  of 
sugar  as  a white  thing  it  is  pro  tanto  identical  with 
snow ; as  a sweet  thing  it  is  the  same  as  liquorice  ; 
qua  hydro-carbon,  as  starch.  The  attribute  picked 
out  may  be  per  se  most  uninteresting  and  familiar, 
but  if  things  superficially  very  diverse  can  be  found 
to  possess  it  buried  within  them  and  so  be  assimi- 
lated with  each  other,  “the  mind  feels  a peculiar  and 
genuine  satisfaction.  . . . The  intellect,  oppressed 
with  the  variety  and  multiplicity  of  facts,  is  joyfully 
relieved  by  the  simplification  and  the  unity  of  a 
great  principle.”2 

Who  does  not  feel  the  charm  of  thinking  that  the 
moon  and  the  apple  are,  as  far  as  their  relation  to 
earth  goes,  identical?  of  knowing  respiration  and 
combustion  to  be  one?  of  understanding  that  the 
balloon  rises  by  the  same  law  whereby  the  stone 
sinks?  of  feeling  that  the  warmth  in  one’s  palm 
when  one  rubs  one’s  sleeve  is  identical  with  the 
motion  which  the  friction  checks?  of  recognising 
the  difference  between  beast  and  fish  to  be  only  a 

1 Ment.  and  Mor.  Science,  p.  107. 

3 Bain,  Logic,  II.,  p.  120. 


102 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  eationality 


higher  degree  of  that  between  human  father  and 
son?  of  believing  our  strength  when  we  climb  or 
chop  to  be  no  other  than  the  strength  of  the  sun’s 
rays  which  made  the  oats  grow  out  of  which  we 
got  our  morning  meal? 

We  shall  presently  see  how  the  attribute  perform- 
ing this  unifying  function,  becomes  associated  with 
some  other  attribute  to  form  what  is  called  a gen- 
eral law.  But  at  present  we  must  note  that  many 
sciences  remain  in  this  first  and  simplest  classifica- 
tory  stage.  A classificatory  science  is  merely  one 
the  fundamental  concepts  of  which  have  few  asso- 
ciations or  none  with  other  concepts.  When  I say 
a man,  a lizard,  and  a frog  are  one  in  being  verte- 
brates, the  identification,  delightful  as  it  is  in  itself, 
leads  me  hardly  any  farther.  “The  idea  that  all 
the  parts  of  a flower  are  modified  leaves,  reveals  a 
connecting  law,  which  surprises  us  into  acquies- 
cence. But  now  try  and  define  the  leaf,  determine 
its  essential  characteristics,  so  as  to  include  all  the 
forms  that  we  have  named.  You  will  find  your- 
self in  a difficulty,  for  all  distinctive  marks  vanish, 
and  you  have  nothing  left,  except  that  a leaf  in  this 
wider  sense  of  the  term  is  a lateral  appendage  of 
the  axis  of  a plant.  Try  then  to  express  the  propo- 
sition ‘the  parts  of  a flower  are  modified  leaves’  in 
the  language  of  scientific  definition,  and  it  reads, 
‘the  parts  of  the  flower  are  lateral  appendages  of 
the  axis’.”1  Truly  a bald  result ! Yet  a dozen  years 
ago  there  hardly  lived  a naturalist  who  was  not 

1 Helmholtz,  Popular  Scientific  Lectures,  p.  47. 

103 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 


thrilled  with  rapture  at  identifications  in  “philo- 
sophic” anatomy  and  botany  exactly  on  a par  with 
this.  Nothing  could  more  clearly  show  that  the 
gratification  of  the  sentiment  of  rationality  depends 
hardly  at  all  on  the  worth  of  the  attribute  which 
strings  things  together  but  almost  exclusively  on 
the  mere  fact  of  their  being  strung  at  all.  Theologi- 
cal implications  were  the  utmost  which  the  attri- 
butes of  archetypal  zoology  carried  with  them,  but 
the  wretched  poverty  of  these  proves  how  little 
they  had  to  do  wdth  the  enthusiasm  engendered  by 
archetypal  identifications.  Take  Agassiz’s  concep- 
tion of  class-characters,  order-characters,  &c.,  as 
“thoughts  of  God.”  What  meagre  thoughts ! Take 
Owen’s  archetype  of  the  vertebrate  skeleton  as  re- 
vealing the  artistic  temperament  of  the  Creator.  It 
is  a grotesque  figure  with  neither  beauty  nor  ethical 
suggestiveness,  fitted  rather  to  discredit  than 
honour  the  Divine  Mind.  In  short  the  conceptions 
led  no  farther  than  the  identification  pure  and 
simple.  The  transformation  which  Darwin  has  ef- 
fected in  the  classificatory  sciences  is  simply  this — 
that  in  his  theory  the  class-essence  is  not  a unify- 
ing attribute  pure  and  simple,  but  an  attribute  with 
wide  associations.  When  a frog,  a man  and  a lizard 
are  recognised  as  one,  not  simply  in  having  the 
same  back-bone,  &c.,  but  in  being  all  offspring  of  one 
parent,  our  thought  instead  of  coming  to  a stand- 
still, is  immediately  confronted  with  further  prob- 
lems and,  we  hope,  solutions.  Who  were  that  par- 
ent’s ancestors  and  cousins?  Why  was  he  chosen 


104 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  rationality 


out  of  all  to  found  such  an  enormous  line?  Why  did 
he  himself  perish  in  the  struggle  to  survive?  etc. 

Association  of  class-attributes,  inter  se,  is  thus  * 
the  next  great  step  in  the  mind’s  simplifying  in- 
dustry. By  it  Empirical  Laws  are  founded  and  * 
sciences,  from  classificatory,  become  explanatory. 
Without  it  we  should  be  in  the  position  of  a judge 
who  could  only  decide  that  the  cases  in  his  court 
belonged  each  to  a certain  class,  but  who  should  be 
inhibited  from  passing  sentence,  or  attaching  to  the 
class-name  any  further  notion  of  duty,  liability,  or 
penalty.  This  coupling  of  the  class-concept  with  * 
certain  determinate  consequences  associated  there- 
withal, is  what  is  practically  important  in  the  laws 
of  nature  as  in  those  of  society. 

When,  for  example,  we  have  identified  prisms, v/ 
bowls  of  water,  lenses  and  strata  of  air  as  distort- 
ing media,  the  next  step  is  to  learn  that  all  distort- 
ing media  refract  light  rays  towards  the  perpendic- 
ular. Such  additional  determination  makes  a law. 
But  this  law  itself  may  be  as  inscrutable  as  the 
concrete  fact  we  started  from.  The  entrance  of  a 
ray  and  its  swerving  towards  the  perpendicular, 
may  be  simply  associated  properties,  with,  for  aught 
we  see,  no  inwardly  necessary  bond,  coupled  to- 
gether as  empirically  as  the  colour  of  a man’s  eyes 
with  the  shape  of  his  nose. 

But  such  an  empirical  law  may  have  its  terms 
again  classified.  The  essence  of  the  medium  may 
be  to  retard  the  light-wave’s  speed.  The  essence 
(in  an  obliquely-striking  wave)  of  deflexion  towards 


105 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  KEVIEWS  D879] 


the  perpendicular  may  be  earlier  retardation  of  that 
part  of  the  wave-front  which  enters  first,  so  that 
the  remaining  portion  swings  round  it  before  get- 
ting in.  Medium  and  bending  towards  perpendicu- 
lar thus  coalesce  into  the  one  identical  fact  of 
retardation.  This  being  granted  gives  an  inward 
explanation  of  all  above  it.  But  retardation  itself 
remains  an  empirical  coupling  of  medium  and  light- 
movement  until  we  have  classified  both  under  a 
single  concept.  The  explanation  reached  by  the 
insight  that  two  phenomena  are  at  bottom  one  and 
the  same  phenomenon,  is  rational  in  the  ideal  and 
ultimate  sense  of  the  word.  The  ultimate  identifi- 
cation of  the  subject  and  predicate  of  a mathemati- 
cal theorem,  an  identification  which  we  can  always 
reach  in  our  reasonings,  is  the  source  of  the  inward 
necessity  of  mathematical  demonstration.  We  see 
that  the  top  and  bottom  of  a parallelogram  must 
be  equal  as  soon  as  we  have  unearthed  in  the  paral- 
lelogram the  attribute  that  it  consists  of  two  equal, 
juxtaposed  triangles  of  which  its  top  and  bottom 
form  homologous  sides — that  is,  as  soon  as  we  have 
seen  that  top  and  bottom  have  an  identical  essence, 
their  length,  as  being  such  sides,  and  that  their  po- 
sition is  an  accident.  This  criterion  of  identity  is 
that  which  we  all  unconsciously  use  when  we  dis- 
criminate between  brute  fact  and  explained  fact. 
There  is  no  other  test. 

In  the  contemporary  striving  of  physicists  to  in- 
terpret every  event  as  a case  of  motion  concealed  or 
visible,  we  have  an  adumbration  of  the  way  in  which 


106 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  rationality 


a common  essence  may  make  the  sensible  hetero- 
geneity of  things  inwardly  rational.  The  cause  is 
one  motion,  the  effect  the  same  motion  transferred 
to  other  molecules ; in  other  words,  physics  aims  at 
the  same  kind  of  rationality  as  mathematics.  In 
the  second  volume  of  Lewes’s  Problems  we  find  this 
anti-Humean  view  that  the  effect  is  the  “procession” 
of  the  cause,  or  that  they  are  one  thing  in  two 
aspects  brought  prominently  forward.1 

And  why,  on  the  other  hand,  do  all  our  contem- 
porary physical  philosophers  so  vie  with  each  other 
in  the  zeal  with  which  they  reiterate  that  in  reality 
nerve-processes  and  brain-tremors  “explain”  noth- 
ing of  our  feelings?  Why  does  “the  chasm  between 
the  two  classes  of  phenomena  still  remain  intel- 
lectually impassable”?2  Simply  because,  in  the 
words  of  Spencer  which  we  quoted  a few  pages 
back,  feeling  and  motion  have  nothing  whatever 
in  common,  no  identical  essence  by  which  we  can 
conceive  both,  and  so,  as  Tyndall  says,  “pass  by  a 
process  of  reasoning  from  one  to  the  other.”  The 
“double-aspect”  school  postulate  the  blank  form  of 
“One  and  the  Same  Fact,”  appeal  to  the  image  of  the 
circle  which  is  both  convex  and  concave,  and  think 
that  they  have  by  this  symbolic  identification  made 
the  matter  seem  more  rational. 

1 This  view  is  in  growing  favour  with  thinkers  fed  from 
empirical  sources.  See  Wundt’s  Physikalische  Axiome  and  the 
important  article  by  A.  Riehl,  “Causalitat  und  Identitat,”  in 
Vierteljahrssch.  f.  wiss.  Philos.  Bd.  I.,  p.  265.  The  Humean 
view  is  ably  urged  by  Chauncey  'Wright,  Philosophical  Discus- 
sions, N.T.,  1877,  p.  406. 

2 Tyndall,  Fragments  of  Science,  2d  ed.,  p.  121. 

107 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  EEVIEWS  0879] 


X Thus  then  the  connexions  of  things  become 
strictly  rational  only  when,  by  successive  substitu- 
tions of  essences  for  things,  and  higher  for  lower 
essences,  we  succeed  in  reaching  a point  of  view 
' from  which  we  can  view  the  things  as  one.  A and 
B are  concretes ; a and  b are  partial  attributes  with 
which  for  the  present  case  we  conceive  them  to  be 
respectively  identical  (classify  them)  and  which 
are  coupled  by  a general  law.  M is  a further  attri- 
bute which  rationally  explains  the  general  law  as 
soon  as  we  perceive  it  to  form  the  essence  of  both 
a and  b,  as  soon  as  we  identify  them  with  each  other 
through  it.  The  softening  of  asphalt  pavements  in 
August  is  explained  first  by  the  empirical  law  that 
heat,  which  is  the  essence  of  August,  produces  melt- 
ing, which  is  the  essence  of  the  pavement’s  change, 
and  secondly  this  law  is  inwardly  rationalised  by 
the  conception  of  both  heat  and  melting  being  at 
the  bottom  one  and  the  same  fact,  namely,  increased 
molecular  mobility. 

Proximate  and  ultimate  explanations  are  then 
essentially  the  same  thing.  Classification  involves 
all  that  is  inward  in  any  explanation,  and  a per- 
fected rationalisation  of  things  means  only  a com- 
pleted classification  of  them.  Every  one  feels  that 
all  explanation  whatever,  even  by  reference  to  the 
most  proximate  empirical  law,  does  involve  some- 
thing of  the  essence  of  inward  rationalisation.  How 
else  can  we  understand  such  words  as  these  from 
Professor  Huxley?  “The  fact  that  it  is  impossible 
to  comprehend  how  it  is  that  a physical  state  gives 


108 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  rationality 


rise  to  a mental  state,  no  more  lessens  tlie  value  of 
our  [empirical]  explanation  of  the  latter  case,  than 
the  fact  that  it  is  utterly  impossible  to  comprehend 
how  motion  is  communicated  from  one  body  to  an- 
other weakens  the  force  of  the  explanation  of  the 
motion  of  one  billiard-ball  by  showing  that  another 
has  hit  it.”1 

To  return  now  to  the  philosophic  problem.  It  is 
evident  that  our  idea  of  the  universe  cannot  assume 
an  inwardly  rational  shape  until  each  separate 
phenomenon  is  conceived  as  fundamentally  identi- 
cal with  every  other.  But  the  important  fact  to 
notice  is  that  in  the  steps  by  which  this  end  is 
reached  the  really  rationalising,  pregnant  moments 
are  the  successive  steps  of  conception,  the  moments 
of  picking  out  essences.  The  association  of  these 
essences  into  laws,  the  empirical  coupling,  is  done 
by  nature  for  us  and  is  hardly  worthy  to  be  called 
an  intellectual  act,  and  on  the  other  hand  the  coales- 
cence-into-one  of  all  items  in  which  the  same  essence 
is  discerned,  in  other  words  the  perception  that  an 
essence  whether  ultimate,  simple  and  universal,  or 
proximate  and  specific,  is  identical  with  itself 
wherever  found,  is  a barren  truism.  The  living 
question  alwmys  is,  Where  is  it  found?  To  stand 
before  a phenomenon  and  say  what  it  is;  in  other 
words  to  pick  out  from  it  the  embedded  character 
(or  characters)  also  embedded  in  the  maximum 
number  of  other  phenomena,  and  so  identify  it  with 
them — here  lie  the  stress  and  strain,  here  the  test  of 

1 “Modern  Symposium,”  XIXth  Century,  Vol.  I.,  1877. 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1879] 


the  philosopher.  So  we  revert  to  what  we  said  far 
hack:  the  genius  can  do  no  more  than  this;  in 
Butler’s  words : 

“He  knows  loliat’s  what,  and  that’s  as  high 
As  metaphysic  wit  can  fly.”  1 
1 This  doctrine  is  perfectly  congruous  with  the  conclusion  that 
identities  are  the  only  propositions  necessary  a priori,  though 
of  course  it  does  not  necessarily  lead  to  that  conclusion,  since 
there  may  be  in  things  elements  which  are  not  simple  but 
bilateral  or  synthetic,  like  straightness  and  shortness  in  a line, 
convexity  and  concavity  in  a curve.  Should  the  empiricists 
succeed  in  their  attempt  to  resolve  such  Siamese-twin  elements 
into  habitual  juxtapositions,  the  Principle  of  Identity  would 
become  the  only  a priori  truth,  and  the  philosophic  problem 
like  all  our  ordinary  problems  would  become  a question  as  to 
facts : What  are  these  facts  which  we  perceive  to  exist?  Are 
there  any  existing  facts  corresponding  to  this  or  that  conceived 
class?  Lewes,  in  the  interesting  discussion  on  necessary  and 
contingent  truth  in  the  Prolegomena  to  his  History  and  in  Chap- 
ter XIII.  of  his  first  Problem,  seems  at  first  sight  to  take  up  an 
opposite  position,  in  that  he  maintains  our  commonly  so-called 
contingent  truths  to  be  really  necessary.  But  his  treatment  of 
the  question  most  beautifully  confirms  the  doctrine  I have  ad- 
vanced in  the  text.  If  the  proposition  “A  is  B”  is  ever  true,  he 
says  it  is  so  necessarily.  But  he  proves  the  necessity  by  show- 
ing that  what  we  mean  by  A is  its  essential  attribute  x,  and 
what  we  mean  by  B is  again  x.  Only  in  so  far  as  A and  B are 
identical  is  the  proposition  true.  But  he  admits  that  a fact 
sensibly  just  like  A may  lack  x,  and  a fact  sensibly  unlike  B 
may  have  it.  In  either  case  the  proposition,  to  be  true,  must 
change.  The  contingency  which  he  banishes  from  propositions, 
he  thus  houses  in  their  terms ; making  as  I do  the  act  of  con- 
ception, subsumption,  classification,  intuition,  naming,  or  what- 
ever else  one  may  prefer  to  call  it,  the  pivot  on  which  thought 
turns.  Before  this  act  there  is  infinite  indeterminateness — A 
and  B may  be  anything.  After  the  act  there  is  the  absolute 
certainty  of  truism — all  x’s  are  the  same.  In  the  act — is  A, 
x?  is  B,  x?  or  not? — we  have  the  sphere  of  truth  and  error,  of 
living  experience,  in  short,  of  Fact.  As  Lewes  himself  says : 
“The  only  necessity  is  that  a thing  is  what  it  is ; the  only 
contingency  is  that  our  proposition  may  not  state  what  the  thing 
is”  ( Problems , Vol.  I.,  p.  395). 

110 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  rationality 

Y 

We  have  now  to  ask  ourselves  how  far  this  identi- 
fication may  be  legitimately  carried  and  what,  when 
perfected,  its  real  worth  is.  But  before  passing  to 
these  further  questions  we  had  best  secure  our 
ground  by  defending  our  fundamental  notion  itself 
from  nominalistic  attacks.  The  reigning  British 
school  has  always  denied  that  the  same  attribute  is 
identical  with  itself  in  different  individuals.  I 
started  above  with  the  assumption  that  when  we 
look  at  a subject  with  a certain  purpose,  regard  it 
from  a certain  point  of  view,  some  one  attribute 
becomes  its  essence  and  identifies  it,  pro  liac  vice, 
with  a class.  To  this  James  Mill  replies : “But  what 
is  meant  by  a mode  of  regarding  things?  This  is 
mysterious ; and  is  as  mysteriously  explained,  when 
it  is  said  to  be  the  taking  into  view  the  particulars 
in  which  individuals  agree.  For  what  is  there, 
which  it  is  possible  for  the  mind  to  take  into  view, 
in  that  in  which  individuals  agree?  Every  colour 
is  an  individual  colour,  every  size  is  an  individual 
size,  every  shape  is  an  individual  shape.  But 
things  have  no  individual  colour  in  common,  no 
individual  shape  in  common;  no  individual  size  in 
common;  that  is  to  say,  they  have  neither  shape, 
colour,  nor  size  in  common.  What,  then,  is  it  which 
they  have  in  common,  which  the  mind  can  take  into 
view?  Those  who  affirmed  that  it  was  something, 
could  by  no  means  tell.  They  substituted  words 
for  things ; using  vague  and  mystical  phrases, 


111 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 


which,  when  examined,  meant  nothing;”1  the  truth 
being  according  to  this  heroic  author,  that  the 
only  thing  that  can  be  possessed  in  common  is  a 
name.  Black  in  the  coat  and  black  in  the  shoe 
agree  only  in  that  both  are  named  black — the  fact 
that  on  this  view  the  name  is  never  the  same  when 
used  twice  being  quite  overlooked.  But  the  blood 
of  the  giants  has  grown  weak  in  these  days,  and  the 
nominalistic  utterances  of  our  contemporaries  are 
like  sweet-bells  jangled,  sadly  out  of  tune.  If  they 
begin  with  a clear  nominalistic  note,  they  are  sure 
to  end  with  a grating  rattle  which  sounds  very 
like  universalia  in  re,  if  not  ante  rem.  In  M.  Taine,2 
who  may  fairly  be  included  in  the  British  School, 
they  are  almost  ante  rem.  This  bruit  de  cloche 
felee,  as  the  doctors  say,  is  pathognomonic  of  the 
condition  of  Ockham’s  entire  modern  progeny. 

But  still  we  may  find  expressions  like  this : 
“When  I say  that  the  sight  of  any  object  gives  me 
the  same  sensation  or  emotion  to-day  that  it  did 
yesterday,  or  the  same  which  it  gives  to  some  other 

1 Analysis,  Vol.  I.,  p.  249. 

aHow  can  M.  Taine  fail  to  have  perceived  that  the  entire 
doctrine  of  “Substitution”  so  clearly  set  forth  in  the  nomi- 
nalistic beginning  of  his  brilliant  book  is  utterly  senseless  ex- 
cept on  the.  supposition  of  realistic  principles  like  those  which 
he  so  admirably  expounds  at  its  close?  How  can  the  image  be 
a useful  substitute  for  the  sensation,  the  tendency  for  the  image, 
the  name  for  the  tendency,  unless  sensation,  image,  tendency 
and  name  be  identical  in  some  respect,  in  respect  namely  of 
function,  of  the  relations  they  enter  into?  Were  this  realistic 
basis  laid  at  the  outset  of  Taine’s  De  V Intelligence,  it  would 
be  one  of  the  most  consistent  instead  of  one  of  the  most  self- 
contradictory works  of  our  day. 


112 


[3.S79]  SENTIMENT  OF  RATIONALITY 


person,  this  is  evidently  an  incorrect  application 
of  the  word  same;  for  the  feeling  which  I had  yes- 
terday is  gone  never  to  return.  . . . Great  con- 
fusion of  ideas  is  often  produced,  and  many  falla- 
cies engendered,  in  otherwise  enlightened  under- 
standings, by  not  being  sufficiently  alive  to  the 
fact  (in  itself  not  always  to  be  avoided),  that  they 
use  the  same  name  to  express  ideas  so  different  as 
those  of  identity  and  undistinguishable  resem- 
blance.”1 

What  are  the  exact  facts?  Take  the  sensation  I 
got  from  a cloud  yesterday  and  from  the  snow  to- 
day. The  white  of  the  snow  and  that  of  the  cloud 
differ  in  place,  time  and  associates;  they  agree  in 
quality,  and  we  may  say  in  origin,  being  in  all  prob- 
ability both  produced  by  the  activity  of  the  same 
brain  tract.  Nevertheless,  John  Mill  denies  our 
right  to  call  the  quality  the  same.  He  says  that  it 
essentially  differs  in  every  different  occasion  of  its 
appearance,  and  that  no  two  phenomena  of  which 
it  forms  part  are  really  identical  even  as  far  as  it 
goes.  Is  it  not  obvious  that  to  maintain  this  view 
he  must  abandon  the  phenomenal  plane  altogether? 
Phenomenally  considered,  the  white  per  se  is  identi- 
cal with  itself  wherever  found  in  snow  or  in  cloud, 
to-day  or  to-morrow.  If  any  nominalist  deny  the 
identity  I ask  him  to  point  out  the  difference.  Ex 
hypothesi  the  qualities  are  sensibly  indistinguish- 
able, and  the  only  difference  he  can  indicate  is  that 
of  time  and  place;  but  these  are  not  differences  in 

1 J.  S.  Mill,  Logic,  8th  Ed.,  I.,  p.  77. 

113 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  C1879l 


the  quality.  If  our  quality  be  not  the  same  with 
itself,  what  meaning  has  the  word  “same”?  Our 
adversary  though  silenced  may  still  grudge  assent, 
but  if  he  analyse  carefully  the  grounds  of  this  re- 
luctance he  will,  I think,  find  that  it  proceeds  from 
a difficulty  in  believing  that  the  cause  of  the  quality 
can  be  just  the  same  at  different  times.  In  other 
words  he  abandons  altogether  the  platform  of  the 
sensible  phenomenon  and  ascends  into  the  empy- 
rean, postulating  some  inner  noumenal  principle 
of  quality  -f-  time  -+-  place  -f-  concomitants.  The  en- 
tire group  being  never  twice  alike,  of  course  this 
ground,  or  being  in  se,  of  the  quality  must  each  time 
be  distinct  and,  so  to  speak,  personal.  This  tran- 
scendental view  is  frankly  avowed  by  Mr.  Spencer 
in  his  Psychology , II.,  p.  63  (the  passage  is  too 
complex  to  quote)  ; but  all  nominalists  must  start 
from  it,  if  they  think  clearly  at  all.1 

We,  who  are  phenomenists,  may  leave  all  meta- 
physical entities  which  have  the  power  of  produc- 
ing whiteness  to  their  fate,  and  content  ourselves 
with  the  irreversible  datum  of  perception  that  the 
whiteness  after  it  is  manifested  is  the  same,  be  it 
here  or  be  it  there.  Of  all  abstractions  such  entities 

1 1 fear  that  even  after  this  some  persons  will  remain  uncon- 
vinced, but  then  it  seems  to  me  the  matter  has  become  a dispute 
about  words.  If  my  supposed  adversary,  when  he  says  that 
different  times  and  places  prevent  a quality  which  appears  in 
them  from  ever  being  twice  the  same,  will  admit  that  they  do 
not  make  it  in  any  conceivable  way  different,  I will  willingly 
abandon  the  words  “same”  and  “identical”  to  his  fury;  though 
I confess  it  becomes  rather  inconvenient  to  have  no  single  posi- 
tive word  left  by  which  to  indicate  complete  absence  of  differ- 
ence. 


114 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  OF  RATIONALITY 


are  the  emptiest,  being  ontological  hypostatisations 
of  the  mere  susceptibility  of  being  distinguished, 
whilst  this  susceptibility  has  its  real,  nameable, 
phenomenal  ground  all  the  while,  in  the  time,  place, 
and  relations  affected  by  the  attribute  considered. 

The  truly  wise  man  will  take  the  phenomenon  in 
its  entirety  and  permanently  sacrifice  no  one  aspect 
to  another.  Time,  place,  and  relations  differ,  he 
will  freely  say ; but  let  him  just  as  freely  admit  that 
the  quality  is  identical  with  itself  through  all  these 
differences.  Then  if,  to  satisfy  the  philosophical  in- 
terest, it  becomes  needful  to  conceive  this  identical 
part  as  the  essence  of  the  several  entire  phenomena, 
he  will  gladly  call  them  one ; whilst  if  some  other 
interest  be  paramount,  the  points  of  difference  will 
become  essential  and  the  identity  an  accident. 
Realism  is  eternal  and  invincible  in  this  phenomenal 
sense. 

We  have  thus  vindicated  against  all  assailants 
our  title  to  consider  the  world  as  a matter  suscepti- 
ble of  rational  formulation  in  the  deepest,  most 
inward  sense,  and  not  as  a disintegrated  sand-heap ; 
and  we  are  consequently  at  liberty  to  ask:  (1) 
Whether  the  mutual  identification  of  its  items  meet 
with  any  necessary  limit;  and  (2)  What,  suppos- 
ing the  operation  completed,  its  real  worth  and 
import  amount  to. 

VI 

In  the  first  place,  when  we  have  rationally  ex-  * 
plained  the  connexion  of  the  items  A and  B by  iden- 


115 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 


tifying  both  with  their  common  attribute  x , it  is 
obvious  that  we  have  really  explained  only  so  much 
of  these  items  as  is  x.  To  explain  the  connexion 
of  choke-damp  and  suffocation  by  the  lack  pf  oxygen 
is  to  leave  untouched  all  the  other  peculiarities  both 
of  choke-damp  and  of  suffocation,  such  as  convul- 
sions and  agony  on  the  one  hand,  density  and  ex- 
plosibility  on  the  other.  In  a word,  so  far  as  A 
and  B contain  l,  m,  n and  o,  p,  q,  respectively,  in 
addition  to  x,  they  are  not  explained  by  x.  Each 
additional  particularity  makes  its  distinct  appeal 

* to  our  rational  craving.  A single  explanation  of  a 
fact  only  explains  it  from  a single  point  of  view.1 
The  entire  fact  is  not  accounted  for  until  each  and 
all  of  its  characters  have  been  identified  with  their 
likes  elsewhere.  To  apply  this  now  to  universal 
formulas  we  see  that  the  explanation  of  the  world 
by  molecular  movements  explains  it  only  so  far  as 
it  actually  is  such  movements.  To  invoke  the  “Un- 
knowable” explains  only  so  much  as  is  unknow- 
able; “Love”  only  so  much  as  is  love;  “Thought,” 
so  much  as  is  thought ; “Strife,”  so  much  as  is  strife. 

* All  data  whose  actual  phenomenal  quality  cannot 

1 In  the  number  of  the  Journal  of  Speculative  Philosophy  for 
April,  1879,  Prof.  John  Watson  most  admirably  asserts  and 
expresses  the  truth  which  constitutes  the  back-bone  of  this 
article,  namely  that  every  manner  of  conceiving  a fact  is  rela- 
tive to  some  interest,  and  that  there  are  no  absolutely  essential 
attributes — every  attribute  having  the  right  to  call  itself  es- 
sential in  turn,  and  the  truth  consisting  of  nothing  less  than 
all  of  them  together.  I avow  myself  unable  to  comprehend  as 
yet  this  author’s  Hegelian  point  of  view,  but  his  pages  164  to 
172  are  a most  welcome  corroboration  of  what  I have  striven 
to  advance  in  the  text. 


116 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  rationality 


be  identified  with  the  attribute  invoked  as  Uni- 
versal Principle,  remain  outside  as  ultimate,  inde- 
pendent kinds  or  natures , associated  by  empirical 
laws  with  the  fundamental  attribute  but  devoid  of 
truly  rational  kinship  with  it.  If  A and  B are  to 
be  thoroughly  rationalized  together,  l,  m,  n,  and  o, 
p , q,  must  each  and  all  turn  out  to  be  so  many  cases 
of  x in  disguise.  This  kind  of  wholesale  identifica- 
tion is  being  now  attempted  by  physicists  when 
they  conceive  of  all  the  ancient,  separate  Forces 
as  so  many  determinations  of  one  and  the  same 
essence,  molecular  mass,  position  and  velocity. 

Suppose  for  a moment  that  this  idea  were  carried 
out  for  the  physical  world, — the  subjective  sensa- 
tions produced  by  the  different  molecular  energies, 
colour,  sound,  taste,  etc.,  etc.,  the  relations  of  like- 
ness and  contrast,  of  time  and  position,  of  ease 
and  effort,  the  emotions  of  pain  and  delight,  in 
short,  all  the  mutually  irreducible  categories  of 
mental  life,  would  still  remain  over.  Certain 
writers  strive  in  turn  to  reduce  all  these  to  a com- 
mon measure,  the  primordial  unit  of  feeling,  or 
infinitesimal  mental  event  which  builds  them  up 
as  bricks  build  houses.  But  this  case  is  wholly 
different  from  the  last.  The  physical  molecule  is 
conceived  not  only  as  having  a being  in  se  apart 
from  representation,  but  as  being  essentially  of 
representable  kind.  With  magnified  perceptions  we 
should  actually  see  it.  The  mental  molecule,  on  the 
other  hand,  has  by  its  very  definition  no  existence 
except  in  being  felt,  and  yet  by  the  same  definition 


117 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  H879] 


never  is  felt.  It  is  neither  a fact  in  consciousness 
nor  a fact  out  of  consciousness,  and  falls  to  the 
ground  as  a transcendental  absurdity.  Nothing 
could  be  more  inconclusive  than  the  empirical  argu- 
ments for  the  existence  of  this  noumenal  feeling 
which  Taine  and  Spencer  draw  from  the  sense  of 
hearing. 

But  let  us  waive  for  an  instant  all  this  and  sup- 
pose our  feelings  reduced  to  one.  We  should  then 
have  two  primordial  natures,  the  molecule  of  matter 
and  the  molecule  of  mind,  coupled  by  an  empirical 
law.  Phenomenally  incommensurable,  the  attempt 
to  reduce  them  to  unity  by  calling  them  two  “as- 
pects” is  vain  so  long  as  it  is  not  pointed  out  who 
is  there  adspicere;  and  the  Machtspruch  that  they 
are  expressions  of  one  underlying  Reality  has  no 
rationalising  function  so  long  as  that  reality  is  con- 
fessed unknowable.  Nevertheless  the  absolute  ne- 
cessity of  an  identical  material  substratum  for  the 
different  species  of  feeling  on  the  one  hand,  and  the 
genera  feeling  and  motion  on  the  other,  if  we  are 
to  have  any  evolutionary  explanation  of  things,  will 
lead  to  ever  renewed  attempts  at  an  atomistic 
hylozoism.  Already  Clifford  and  Taine,  Spencer, 
Fechner,  Zollner,  G.  S.  Hall,  and  more  besides, 
have  given  themselves  up  to  this  ideal. 

But  again  let  us  waive  this  criticism  and  admit 
that  even  the  chasm  between  feeling  and  motion 
may  be  rationally  bridged  by  the  conception  of  the 
bilateral  atom  of  being.  Let  us  grant  that  this 
atom  by  successive  compoundings  with  its  fellows 


118 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  OF  RATIONALITY 


builds  up  the  universe ; is  it  not  still  clear  that  each 
item  in  the  universe  would  still  be  explained  only 
as  to  its  general  quality  and  not  as  to  its  other  par- 
ticular determinations?  The  particulars  depend  on 
the  exact  number  of  primordial  atoms  existing  at 
the  outset  and  their  exact  distances  from  each  other. 
The  “universal  formula”  of  Laplace  which  Du  Bois- 
Reymond  has  made  such  striking  use  of  in  his  lec- 
ture Veber  die  Grenzen  des  JSfaturerkennens,  cannot 
possibly  get  along  with  fewer  than  this  almost  in- 
finite number  of  data.  Their  homogeneity  does  not 
abate  their  infinity — each  is  a separate  empirical 
fact. 

And  when  we  now  retract  our  provisional  admis-  * 
sions,  and  deny  that  feelings  incommensurable  inter 
se  and  with  motion  can  be  possibly  unified,  we  see  at 
once  that  the  reduction  of  the  phenomenal  Chaos 
to  rational  form  must  stop  at  a certain  point.  It  * 
is  a limited  process, — bounded  by  the  number  of 
elementary  attributes  which  cannot  be  mutually 
identified,  the  specific  qualm  of  representation,  on 
the  one  hand,  and,  on  the  other,  by  the  number  of 
entities  (atoms  or  monads  or  what  not)  with  their 
complete  mathematical  determinations,  requisite 
for  deducing  the  fulness  of  the  concrete  world.  All 
these  irreducible  data  form  a system,  no  longer 
phenomenally  rational,  inter  se,  but  bound  together 
by  what  are  for  us  empirical  laws.  We  merely  find 
the  system  existing  as  a matter  of  fact,  and  write 
it  down.  In  short,  a plurality  of  categories  and  an  x 
immense  number  of  primordial  entities,  determined 


119 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 


according  to  these  categories,  is  the  minimum  of 
philosophic  baggage,  the  only  possible  compromise 
between  the  need  of  clearness  and  the  need  of  unity. 
All  simplification,  beyond  this  point,  is  reached 
either  by  throwing  away  the  particular  concrete 
determinations  of  the  fact  to  be  explained,  or  else 
it  is  illusory  simplification.  In  the  latter  case  it 
is  made  by  invoking  some  sham  term,  some  pseudo- 
principle, and  conglomerating  it  and  the  data  into 
one.  The  principle  may  be  an  immanent  element 
but  no  true  universal : Sensation,  Thought,  Will  are 
principles  of  this  kind;  or  it  may  be  a transcendent 
entity  like  Matter,  Spirit,  Substance,  the  Unknow- 
able, the  Unconscious,  &C.1  Such  attempts  as  these 
latter  do  but  postulate  unification,  not  effect;  and 
if  taken  avowedly  to  represent  a mere  claim,  may 
be  allowed  to  stand.  But  if  offered  as  actual  ex- 
planations, though  they  may  serve  as  a sop  to  the 
rabble,  they  can  but  nauseate  those  whose  philo- 
sophic appetite  is  genuine  and  entire.  If  we  choose 
the  former  mode  of  simplification  and  are  willing 
to  abstract  from  the  particulars  of  time,  place  and 
combination  in  the  concrete  world,  we  may  simplify 
our  elements  very  much  by  neglecting  the  numbers 
and  collocations  of  our  primordial  elements  and 
attending  to  their  qualitative  categories  alone.  The 
system  formed  by  these  will  then  really  rationalise 
the  universe  so  far  as  its  qualities  go.  Nothing  can 

1 The  idea  of  “God”  in  its  popular  function  is  open  to  neither 
of  these  objections,  being  conceived  as  a phenomenon  standing 
in  causal  relation  to  other  phenomena.  As  such,  however,  it 
has  no  unifying  function  of  a properly  explanatory  kind. 


120 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  nationality 

happen  in  it  incommensurable  with  these  data,  and 
practically  this  abstract  treatment  of  the  world 
as  quality  is  all  that  philosophers  aim  at.  They  are 
satisfied  when  they  can  see  it  to  be  a place  in  which 
none  but  these  qualities  appear,  and  in  which  the 
same  quality  appears  not  only  once  but  identically 
repeats  itself.  They  are  willing  to  ignore,  or  leave 
to  special  sciences  the  knowledge  of  what  times, 
places  and  concomitants  the  recurring  quality  is 
likely  to  affect.  The  Essais  de  Critique  generate  of 
Kenouvier  form,  to  my  mind,  by  far  the  ablest 
answer  to  the  philosophic  need  thus  understood, 
clearness  and  unity  being  there  carried  each  to  the 
farthest  point  compatible  with  the  other’s  existence. 

VII 

And  now  comes  the  question  as  to  the  worth  of 
such  an  achievement.  How  much  better  off  is  the 
philosopher  when  he  has  got  his  system  than  he  was 
before  it?  As  a mere  phenomenal  system  it  stands 
between  two  fires.  On  the  one  hand  the  unbridled 
craver  of  unity  scorns  it,  as  being  incompletely 
rational,  still  to  a great  extent  an  empirical  sand- 
heap;  whilst  on  the  other  the  practical  man  de- 
spises its  empty  and  abstract  barrenness.  All  it 
says  is  that  the  elements  of  the  world  are  such  and 
such  and  that  each  is  identical  with  itself  wherever 
found;  but  the  question:  Where  is  it  found?  (which 
is  for  the  practical  man  the  all-important  question 
about  each  element)  he  is  left  to  answer  by  his  own 


121 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  118791 


wit.  Which,  of  all  the  essences,  shall  here  and  now 
be  held  the  essence  of  this  concrete  thing,  the 
fundamental  philosophy  never  attempts  to  decide. 
We  seem  thus  led  to  the  conclusion  that  a system 
of  categories  is,  on  the  one  hand,  the  only  possible 
philosophy,  but  is,  on  the  other,  a most  miserable 
and  inadequate  substitute  for  the  fulness  of  the 
truth.  It  is  a monstrous  abridgment  of  things  which 
like  all  abridgments  is  got  by  the  absolute  loss  and 
casting  out  of  real  matter.  This  is  why  so  few  hu- 
man beings  truly  care  for  Philosophy.  The  particu- 
lar determinations  which  she  ignores  are  the  real 
matter  exciting  other  msthetic  and  practical  needs, 
quite  as  potent  and  authoritative  as  hers.  What 
does  the  moral  enthusiast  care  for  philosophical 
ethics?  Why  does  the  2E sthetik  of  every  German 
philosopher  appear  to  the  artist  like  the  abomina- 
tion of  desolation?  What  these  men  need  is  a par- 
ticular counsel,  and  no  barren,  universal  truism. 

“Grau,  theurer  Freund,  ist  alle  Theorie 
Und  grim  des  Lebens  goldner  Baum.” 

The  entire  man,  who  feels  all  needs  by  turns, 
will  take  nothing  as  an  equivalent  for  Life  but  the 
fulness  of  living  itself.  Since  the  essences  of  things 
are  as  a matter  of  fact  spread  out  and  disseminated 
through  the  whole  extent  of  time  and  space,  it  is  in 
their  spread-outness  and  alternation  that  he  will 
enjoy  them.  When  weary  of  the  concrete  clash  and 
dust  and  pettiness,  he  will  refresh  himself  by  an 
occasional  bath  in  the  eternal  spring,  or  fortify 
himself  by  a daily  look  at  the  immutable  Natures. 


122 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  rationality 


But  he  will  only  he  a visitor,  not  a dweller  in  the 
region;  he  will  never  carry  the  philosophic  yoke 
upon  his  shoulders,  and  when  tired  of  the  gray 
monotony  of  her  problems  and  insipid  spaciousness 
of  her  results,  will  always  escape  gleefully  into 
the  teeming  and  dramatic  richness  of  the  concrete 
world. 

So  our  study  turns  back  here  to  its  beginning. 
We  started  by  calling  every  concept  a teleological 
instrument  {supra,  p.  86).  No  concept  can  be  a 
valid  substitute  for  a concrete  reality  except  with 
reference  to  a particular  interest  in  the  conceiver. 
The  interest  of  theoretic  rationality,  the  relief  of 
identification,  is  but  one  of  a thousand  human  pur- 
poses. When  others  rear  their  heads  it  must  pack 
up  its  little  bundle  and  retire  till  its  turn  recurs. 
The  exaggerated  dignity  and  value  that  philoso- 
phers have  claimed  for  their  solutions  is  thus 
greatly  reduced.  The  only  virtue  their  theoretic 
conception  need  have  is  simplicity,  and  a simple 
conception  is  an  equivalent  for  the  world  only  so 
far  as  the  world  is  simple;  the  world  meanwhile, 
whatever  simplicity  it  may  harbour,  being  also  a 
mightily  complex  affair.  Enough  simplicity  re- 
mains, however,  and  enough  urgency  in  our  craving 
to  reach  it,  to  make  the  theoretic  function  one  of  the 
most  invincible  and  authoritative  of  human  im- 
pulses. All  ages  have  their  intellectual  populace. 
That  of  our  own  day  prides  itself  particularly  on 
its  love  of  Science  and  Facts  and  its  contempt  for 
all  metaphysics.  Just  weaned  from  the  Sunday- 


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COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £18791 


school  nurture  of  its  early  years,  with  the  taste  of 
the  catechism  still  in  its  mouth,  it  is  perhaps  not 
surprising  that  its  palate  should  lack  discrimina- 
tion and  fail  to  recognise  how  much  of  ontology 
is  contained  in  the  “Nature,”  “Force”  and  “Neces- 
sary Law,”  how  much  mysticism  in  the  “Awe,” 
“Progress”  and  “Loyalty  to  Truth,”  or  whatever 
the  other  phrases  may  be  with  which  it  sweetens 
its  rather  meagre  fare  of  fragmentary  physiology 
and  physics.  But  its  own  inconsistency  should 
teach  it  that  the  eradication  of  music,  painting 
and  poetry,  games  of  chance  and  skill,  manly 
sports  and  all  other  aesthetic  energies  from  human 
life,  would  be  an  easy  task  compared  with  that 
suppression  of  Metaphysics  which  it  aspires  to  ac- 
complish. Metaphysics  of  some  sort  there  must  be. 
The  only  alternative  is  between  the  good  Meta- 
physics of  clear-headed  Philosophy  and  the  trashy 
Metaphysics  of  vulgar  Positivism.  Metaphysics, 
the  quest  of  the  last  clear  elements  of  things,  is 
but  another  name  for  thought  which  seeks  thorough 
self-consistency;  and  so  long  as  men  must  think  at 
all,  some  will  be  found  willing  to  forsake  all  else  to 
follow  that  ideal. 

VIII 

Suppose  then  the  goal  attained.  Suppose  we  have 
at  last  a Metaphysics  in  which  clearness  and  unity 
join  friendly  hands.  Whether  it  be  over  a system 
of  interlocked  elements,  or  over  a substance,  or 
over  such  a simple  fact  as  “phenomenon”  or  “rep- 


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[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  rationality 


resentation,”  need  not  trouble  us  now.  For  the 
discussion  which  follows  we  will  call  the  result  the 
metaphysical  Datum  and  leave  its  composite  or 
simple  nature  uncertain.  Whichever  it  be,  and 
however  limited  as  we  have  seen  be  the  sphere  of 
its  utility,  it  satisfies,  if  no  other  need,  at  least  the . 
need  of  rationality.  But  now  I ask : Can  that  which 
is  the  ground  of  rationality  in  all  else  be  itself 
properly  called  rational?  It  would  seem  at  first 
sight  that  in  the  sense  of  the  word  we  have  hitherto 
alone  considered,  it  might.  One  is  tempted  at  any 
rate  to  say  that,  since  the  craving  for  rationality 
in  a theoretic  or  logical  sense  consists  in  the  identi- 
fication of  one  thing  with  all  other  outstanding 
things,  a unique  datum  which  left  nothing  else  out- 
standing would  leave  no  play  for  further  rational 
demand,  and  might  thus  be  said  to  quench  that  de- 
mand or  to  be  rational  in  se.  No  otherness  being 
left  to  annoy  the  minds  we  should  sit  down  at  peace. 

In  other  words,  just  as  the  theoretic  tranquillity 
of  the  boor  results  from  his  spinning  no  further 
considerations  about  his  chaotic  universe  which 
may  prevent  him  from  going  about  his  practical 
affairs;  so  any  brute  datum  whatever  (provided  it 
were  simple  and  clear)  ought  to  banish  mystery  from 
the  Universe  of  the  philosopher  and  confer  perfect 
theoretic  peace,  inasmuch  as  there  would  then  be  for 
him  absolutely  no  further  considerations  to  spin. 

This  in  fact  is  what  some  persons  think.  Profes- 
sor Bain  says:  “ A difficulty  is  solved,  a mystery 
unriddled,  when  it  can  be  shown  to  resemble  some- 


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COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879]  • 


thing  else;  to  be  an  example  of  a fact  already 
known.  Mystery  is  isolation,  exception,  or  it  may 
be  apparent  contradiction:  the  resolution  of  the 
mystery  is  found  in  assimilation,  identity,  fra- 
ternity. When  all  things  are  assimilated,  so  far  as 
assimilation  can  go,  so  far  as  likeness  holds,  there 
is  an  end  to  explanation;  there  is  an  end  to  what 
the  mind  can  do,  or  can  intelligently  desire.  . . . 
The  path  of  science  as  exhibited  in  modern  ages,  is 
towards  generality,  wider  and  wider,  until  wTe  reach 
the  highest,  the  widest  laws  of  every  department 
of  things;  there  explanation  is  finished,  mystery 
ends,  perfect  vision  is  gained.” 

But  unfortunately  this  first  answer  will  not  hold. 
Whether  for  good  or  evil,  it  is  an  empirical  fact 
that  the  mind  is  so  wedded  to  the  process  of  seeing 
an  other  beside  every  item  of  its  experience,  that 
when  the  notion  of  an  absolute  datum  which  is  all 
is  presented  to  it,  it  goes  through  its  usual  pro- 
cedure and  remains  pointing  at  the  void  beyond,  as 
if  in  that  lay  further  matter  for  contemplation.  In 
short,  it  spins  for  itself  the  further  positive  con- 
sideration of  a Nonentity  enveloping  the  Being  of 
its  datum ; and  as  that  leads  to  no  issue  on  the  fur- 
ther side,  back  recoils  the  thought  in  a circle 
towards  its  datum  again.  But  there  is  no  logical 
identity,  no  natural  bridge  between  nonentity  and 
this  particular  datum,  and  the  thought  stands  oscil- 
lating to  and  fro,  wondering  “Why  was  there  any- 
thing but  nonentity?  Why  just  this  universal 
datum  and  not  another?  Why  anything  at  all?” 


126 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  rationality 


and  finds  no  end,  in  wandering  mazes  lost.  Indeed, 
Professor  Bain’s  words  are  so  untrue  that  in  re- 
flecting men  it  is  just  when  the  attempt  to  fuse  the 
manifold  into  a single  totality  has  been  most  suc- 
cessful, when  the  conception  of  the  universe  as  a fait 
unique  (in  D’Alembert’s  words)  is  nearest  its  per- 
fection, that  the  craving  for  further  explanation, 
the  ontological  Oao^a^etv  arises  in  its  extremest 
pungency. 

As  Schopenhauer  says,  “The  uneasiness  which  * 
keeps  the  never-resting  clock  of  metaphysics  in  mo- 
tion, is  the  consciousness  that  the  non-existence  of 
this  world  is  just  as  possible  as  its  existence”.1 

The  notion  of  Nonentity  may  thus  be  called  the 
parent  of  the  philosophic  craving  in  its  subtlest  and 
profoundest  sense.  Absolute  existence  is  absolute 
mystery.  Although  selbststdndig , it  is  not  selbstver- 
stdndlich ; for  its  relations  with  the  Nothing  remain 
unmediated  to  our  understanding.  One  philos- 
opher only,  so  far  as  I know,  has  pretended  to  throw 
a logical  bridge  over  this  chasm.  Hegel,  by  trying 
to  show  that  Nonentity  and  Being  as  actually  de- 
termined are  linked  together  by  a series  of  succes- 
sive identities,  binds  the  whole  of  possible  thought 
into  an  adamantine  unity  with  no  conceivable  outly- 
ing notion  to  disturb  the  free  rotary  circulation  of 
the  mind  within  its  bounds.  Since  such  unchecked 
motion  constitutes  the  feeling  of  rationality,  he 
must  be  held,  if  he  has  succeeded,  to  have  eternally 
and  absolutely  quenched  all  its  logical  demands. 

1 Welt  als  Wille  &c.,  3 Auflage,  I.,  p.  189. 

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COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 

But  for  those  who,  like  most  of  us,  deem  Hegel’s 
heroic  effort  to  have  failed,  nought  remains  but  to 
confess  that  when  all  has  been  unified  to  its  supreme 
degree  (Professor  Bain  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing), the  notions  of  a Nonentity,  or  of  a pos- 
sible Other  than  the  actual,  may  still  haunt  our 
imagination  and  prey  upon  the  ultimate  data  of  our 
system.  The  bottom  of  Being  is  left  logically 
opaque  to  us,  a datum  in  the  strict  sense  of  the 
word,  something  which  we  simply  come  upon  and 
find,  and  about  which  (if  we  wish  to  act)  we  should 
pause  and  wonder  as  little  as  possible.  In  this  con- 
fession lies  the  lasting  truth  of  Empiricism,  and  in 
it  Empiricism  and  imaginative  Faith  join  hands. 
The  logical  attitude  of  both  is  identical,  they  both 
say  there  is  a plus  ultra  beyond  all  we  know,  a womb 
of  unimagined  other  possibility.  They  only  differ 
in  their  sentimental  temper : Empiricism  says,  “Into 
the  plus  ultra  you  have  no  right  to  carry  your  an- 
thropomorphic affirmations” ; Faith  says,  “You  have 
no  right  to  extend  to  it  your  denials”.  The  mere 
ontologic  emotion  of  wonder,  of  mystery,  has  in 
some  minds  such  a tinge  of  the  rapture  of  sublimity, 
that  for  this  aesthetic  reason  alone,  it  will  be  diffi- 
cult for  any  philosophic  system  completely  to  exor- 
cise it. 

In  truth,  the  philosopher’s  logical  tranquillity  is 
after  all  in  essence  no  other  than  the  boor’s.  Their 
difference  regards  only  the  point  at  which  each 
refuses  to  let  further  considerations  upset  the  ab- 
soluteness of  the  data  he  assumes.  The  boor  does 


128 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  OF  RATIONALITY 


so  immediately,  and  is  therefore  liable  at  any  mo- 
ment to  the  ravages  of  many  kinds  of  confusion  and 
doubt.  The  philosopher  does  not  do  so  till  unity 
has  been  reached,  and  is  therefore  warranted  against 
the  inroads  of  those  considerations — but  only  practi- 
cally, not  essentially,  secure  from  the  blighting 
breath  of  the  ultimate  “Why?”  Positivism  takes  a 
middle  ground,  and  with  a certain  consciousness  of 
the  beyond,  abruptly  refuses  by  an  inhibitory  action 
of  the  will  to  think  any  further,  stamps  the  ground 
and  says,  “Physics,  I espouse  thee!  for  better  or 
worse,  be  thou  my  absolute !” 

The  Absolute  is  what  has  not  yet  been  tran- 
scended, criticised  or  made  relative.  So  far  from 
being  something  quintessential  and  unattainable  as 
is  so  often  pretended,  it  is  practically  the  most  fa- 
miliar thing  in  life.  Every  thought  is  absolute  to 
us  at  the  moment  of  conceiving  it  or  acting  upon  it. 
It  only  becomes  relative  in  the  light  of  further  re- 
flection. This  may  make  it  flicker  and  grow  pale — 
the  notion  of  nonentity  may  blow  in  from  the  infinite 
and  extinguish  the  theoretic  rationality  of  a univer- 
sal datum.  As  regards  this  latter,  absoluteness  and 
rationality  are  in  fact  convertible  terms.  And  the 
chief  effort  of  the  rationalising  philosopher  must  be 
to  gain  an  absoluteness  for  his  datum  which  shall  be 
stable  in  the  maximum  degree,  or  as  far  as  possible 
removed  from  exposure  to  those  further  considera- 
tions by  which  we  saw  that  the  vulgar  Weltan- 
schauung may  so  promptly  be  upset.  I shall  hence- 
forward call  the  further  considerations  which  may 


129 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 


supervene  and  make  relative  or  derationalise  a mass 
of  thought,  the  reductive  of  that  thought.  The  re- 
ductive of  absolute  being  is  thus  nonentity,  or  the 
notion  of  an  aliter  possibile  which  it  involves.  The 
reductive  of  an  absolute  physics  is  the  thought  that 
all  material  facts  are  representations  in  a mind. 
The  reductive  of  absolute  time,  space,  causality, 
atoms,  &c.,  are  the  so-called  antinomies  which  arise 
as  soon  as  we  think  fully  out  the  thoughts  we  have 
begun.  The  reductive  of  absolute  knowledge  is  the 
constant  potentiality  of  doubt,  the  notion  that  the 
next  thought  may  always  correct  the  present  one 
— resulting  in  the  notion  that  a noumenal  world  is 
there  mocking  the  one  we  think  we  know.  What- 
ever we  think,  some  reductive  seems  in  strict  theo- 
retic legitimacy  always  imminently  hovering  over 
our  thought  ready  to  blight  it.  Doubleness  dis- 
missed at  the  front  door  re-enters  in  the  rear  and 
spoils  the  rationality  of  the  simple  datum  we  flat- 
tered ourselves  we  had  attained.  Theoretically  the 
task  of  the  philosopher,  if  he  cannot  reconcile  the 
datum  with  the  reductive  by  the  way  of  identifica- 
tion d la  Hegel,  is  to  exorcise  the  reductive  so  that 
the  datum  may  hold  up  its  head  again  and  know  no 
fear.  Professor  Bain  would  no  doubt  say  that  non- 
entity was  a pseud-idea  not  derived  from  experience 
and  therefore  meaningless,  and  so  exorcise  that  re- 
ductive.1 The  antinomies  may  be  exorcised  by  the 

‘The  author  of  A Candid  Examination  of  Theism  (Triihner, 
1878)  exercises  Nonentity  by  the  notion  of  the  all-excluding  in- 
finitude of  Existence, — whether  reasonably  or  not  I refrain 


130 


[1879]  SENTIMENT  of  rationality 


distinction  between  potentiality  and  actuality.1  The 
ordinary  half  educated  materialist  comforts  him- 
self against  idealists  by  the  notion  that,  after  all, 
thought  is  such  an  obscure  mystical  form  of  exist- 
ence that  it  is  almost  as  bad  as  no  existence  at  all, 
and  need  not  be  seriously  taken  into  account  by  a 
sensible  man. 

If  nothing  else  could  be  conceived  than  thoughts 
or  fancies,  these  would  be  credited  with  the  maxi- 
mum of  reality.  Their  reductive  is  the  belief  in  an 
objective  reality  of  which  they  are  but  copies. 
When  this  belief  takes  the  form  of  the  affirmation  of 
a noumenal  world  contrasted  with  all  possible 
thought,  and  therefore  playing  no  other  part  than 
that  of  reductive  pure  and  simple, — to  discover  the 
formula  of  exorcism  becomes,  and  has  been  recog- 
nized ever  since  Kant  to  be,  one  of  the  principal 
tasks  of  philosophy  rationally  understood. 

The  reductive  used  by  nominalists  to  discredit 
the  self-identity  of  the  same  attribute  in  different 
phenomena  is  the  notion  of  a still  higher  degree  of 
identity.  We  easily  exorcise  this  reductive  by  chal- 
lenging them  to  show  what  the  higher  degree  of 
sameness  can  possibly  contain  wffiich  is  not  already 
in  the  lower. 

The  notion  of  Nonentity  is  not  only  a reductive; 
it  can  assume  upon  occasion  an  exorcising  function. 

from  deciding.  The  last  chapter  of  this  work  (published  a 
year  after  the  present  text  was  written)  is  on  “the  final 
Mystery  of  Things,”  and  expresses  in  striking  language  much 
that  I have  said. 

1 See  Renouvier : Premier  Essai. 

131 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  t1879^ 


If,  for  example,  a man’s  ordinary  mundane  con- 
sciousness feels  staggered  at  the  improbability  of 
an  immaterial  thinking-principle  being  the  source 
of  all  things,  Nonentity  comes  in  and  says,  “Con- 
trasted with  me  (that  is,  considered  simply  as 
existent ) one  principle  is  as  probable  as  another”. 
If  the  same  mundane  consciousness  recoils  at  the 
notion  of  providence  towards  individuals  or  individ- 
ual immortality  as  involving,  the  one  too  infinite  a 
subdivision  of  the  divine  attention,  the  other  a too 
infinite  accumulation  of  population  in  the  heavens, 
Nonentity  says,  “As  compared  with  me  all  quanti- 
ties are  one : the  wonder  is  all  there  when  God  has 
found  it  worth  His  while  to  guard  or  save  a single 
soul”. 

But  if  the  philosopher  fails  to  find  a satisfac- 
tory formula  of  exorcism  for  his  datum,  the  only 
thing  he  can  do  is  to  “blink”  the  reductive  at  a cer- 
tain point,  assume  the  Given  as  his  necessary  ulti- 
mate, and  proceed  to  a life  whether  of  contempla- 
tion or  of  action  based  on  that.  There  is  no  doubt 
this  half  wilful  act  of  arrest,  this  acting  on  an 
opaque  necessity,  is  accompanied  by  a certain  pleas- 
ure. See  the  reverence  of  Carlyle  for  brute  fact: 
“There  is  an  infinite  significance  in  Fact.”  “Neces- 
sity,” says  a German  philosopher,1  and  he  means  not 
rational  but  simply  given  necessity,  “is  the  last  and 
highest  point  that  we  can  reach  in  a rational  con- 
ception of  the  world.  ...  It  is  not  only  the  in- 
terest of  ultimate  and  definitive  knowledge,  but  also 

1 Diiliring : Cursus  der  Philosophic,  Leipzig,  1875,  p.  35. 

132 


[1S79]  SENTIMENT  of  rationality 


that  of  the  feelings,  to  find  a last  repose  and  an 
ideal  equilibrium,  in  an  uttermost  datum  which  can 
simply  not  be  other  than  it  is.” 

Such  is  the  attitude  of  ordinary  men  in  their 
theism,  God’s  fiat  being  in  physics  and  morals  such 
an  uttermost  datum.  Such  also  is  the  attitude  of 
all  hard-minded  analysts  and  V erstandesmenschen. 
Renouvier  and  Hodgson,  the  two  foremost  con- 
temporary philosophers,  promptly  say  that  of  ex- 
perience as  a whole  no  account  can  be  given,  but  do 
not  seek  to  soften  the  abruptness  of  the  confession 
or  reconcile  us  with  our  impotence. 

Such  mediating  attempts  may  be  made  by  more 
mystical  minds.  The  peace  of  rationality  may  be 
sought  through  ecstacy  when  logic  fails.  To  re- 
ligious persons  of  every  shade  of  doctrine  moments 
come  when  the  world  as  it  is  seems  so  divinely 
orderly,  and  the  acceptance  of  it  by  the  heart  so 
rapturously  complete,  that  intellectual  questions 
vanish,  nay  the  intellect  itself  is  hushed  to  sleep — 
as  Wordsworth  says,  “Thought  is  not,  in  enjoyment 
it  expires”.  Ontological  emotion  so  fills  the  soul 
that  ontological  speculation  can  no  longer  overlap 
it  and  put  her  girdle  of  interrogation-marks  around 
existence.  Even  the  least  religious  of  men  must 
have  felt  with  our  national  ontologic  poet,  Walt 
Whitman,  when  loafing  on  the  grass  on  some  trans- 
parent summer  morning,  that  “Swiftly  arose  and 
spread  around  him  the  peace  and  knowledge  that 
pass  all  the  argument  of  the  earth”.  At  such  mo- 
ments of  energetic  living  we  feel  as  if  there  were 


133 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 


something  diseased  and  contemptible,  yea  vile,  in 
theoretic  grubbing  and  brooding.  To  feel  “I  am  the 
truth”  is  to  abolish  the  opposition  between  knowing 
and  being. 

Since  the  heart  can  thus  wall  out  the  ultimate 
irrationality  which  the  head  ascertains,  the  erection 
of  its  procedure  into  a systematised  method  would 
be  a philosophic  achievement  of  first-rate  impor- 
tance. As  used  by  mystics  hitherto  it  has  lacked 
universality,  being  available  for  few  persons  and 
at  few  times,  and  even  in  these  being  apt  to  be  fol- 
lowed by  fits  of  “reaction”  and  “dryness”;  but  it 
may  nevertheless  be  the  forerunner  of  what  will  ulti- 
mately prove  a true  method.  If  all  men  could  per- 
manently say  with  Jacobi,  “In  my  heart  there  is 
light,”  though  they  should  for  ever  fail  to  give  an 
articulate  account  of  it,  existence  would  really  be 
rationalised.1 

But  if  men  should  ever  all  agree  that  the  mystical 

*A  curious  recent  contribution  to  the  construction  of  a uni- 
versal mystical  method  is  contained  in  the  Anaesthetic  Revela- 
tion by  Benj.  P.  Blood  (Amsterdam,  N.Y.,  1874).  The  author, 
who  is  a writer  abounding  in  verbal  felicities,  thinks  we  may 
all  grasp  the  secret  of  Being  if  we  only  intoxicate  ourselves 
often  enough  with  laughing-gas.  “There  is  in  the  instant  of 
recall  from  the  anmsthetic  stupor  a moment  in  which  the  genius 
of  being  is  revealed.  . . . Patients  try  to  speak  of  it  but  in- 
variably fail  in  a lost  mood  of  introspection.  . . . But  most  will 
accept  this  as  the  central  point  of  the  illumination  that  sanity 
is  not  the  basic  quality  of  intelligence,  . . . but  that  only  in 
sanity  is  formal  or  contrasting  thought,  while  the  naked  life 
is  realised  outside  of  sanity  altogether.  It  is  the  instant  con- 
trast of  this  tasteless  water  of  souls  with  formal  thought  as 
we  come  to  that  leaves  the  patient  in  an  astonishment  that  the 
awful  mystery  of  life  is  at  last  but  a homely  and  common 


134 


[18791  SENTIMENT  of  eationality 


method  is  a subterfuge  without  logical  pertinency, 
a plaster,  but  no  cure,  that  the  Hegelian  method  is 
fallacious,  that  the  idea  of  Nonentity  can  therefore 
neither  be  exorcised  nor  identified,  Empiricism  will 
be  the  ultimate  philosophy.  Existence  will  be  a 
brute  Fact  to  which  as  a whole  the  emotion  of  onto- 
logic  wonder  shall  rightfully  cleave,  but  remain 
eternally  unsatisfied.  This  wonderfulness  or  mys- 
teriousness will  then  be  an  essential  attribute  of  the 
nature  of  things,  and  the  exhibition  and  emphasiz- 
ing of  it  will  always  continue  to  be  an  ingredient  in 
the  philosophic  industry  of  the  race.  Every  genera- 
tion will  produce  its  Job,  its  Hamlet , its  Faust  or 
its  Sartor  Resartus. 

With  this  we  seem  to  have  exhausted  all  the  pos- 
sibilities of  purely  theoretic  rationality.  But  we 
saw  at  the  outset  that  when  subjectively  considered 
rationality  can  only  be  defined  as  perfectly  unim- 
peded mental  function.  Impediments  which  arise 
in  the  purely  theoretic  sphere  might  perhaps  be 
avoided  if  the  stream  of  mental  action  should  leave 

thing.  ...  To  minds  of  sanguine  imagination  there  will  be  a 
sadness  in  the  tenor  of  the  mystery,  as  if  the  key-note  of  the 
universe  were  low — for  no  poetry,  no  emotion  known  to  the 
normal  sanity  of  man,  can  furnish  a hint  of  its  primaeval  pres- 
tige, and  its  all-but  appalling  solemnity ; but  for  such  as  have 
felt  sadly  the  instability  of  temporal  things  there  is  a comfort 
of  serenity  and  ancient  peace ; while  for  the  resolved  and  im- 
perious spirit  there  are  majesty  and  supremacy  unspeakable.” 
The  logical  characteristic  of  this  state  is  said  to  be  “an  apodal 
sufficiency — to  which  sufficiency  a wonder  or  fear  of  why  it  is 
sufficient  cannot  pertain  and  could  be  attributed  only  as  an 
impossible  disease  or  lack.  . . . The  disease  of  Metaphysics 
vanishes  in  the  fading  of  the  question  and  not  in  the  coming  of 
an  answer.” 


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COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 


that  sphere  betimes  and  pass  into  the  practical. 
The  structural  unit  of  mind  is  in  these  days,  deemed 
to  be  a triad,  beginning  with  a sensible  impression, 
ending  with  a motion,  and  having  a feeling  of 
greater  or  less  length  in  the  middle.  Perhaps  the 
whole  difficulty  of  attaining  theoretic  rationality  is 
due  to  the  fact  that  the  very  quest  violates  the 
nature  of  our  intelligence,  and  that  a passage  of  the 
mental  function  into  the  third  stage  before  the 
second  has  come  to  an  end  in  the  cul  de  sac  of  its 
contemplation,  would  revive  the  energy  of  motion 
and  keep  alive  the  sense  of  ease  and  freedom  which 
is  its  psychic  counterpart.  We  must  therefore  in- 
quire what  constitutes  the  feeling  of  rationality  in 
its  judical  aspect;  but  that  must  be  done  at 
another  time  and  in  another  place. 

Note.— This  article  is  the  first  chapter  of  a psychological 
work  on  the  motives  which  lead  men  to  philosophise.  It  deals 
with  the  purely  theoretic  or  logical  impulse.  Other  chapters 
treat  of  practical  and  emotional  motives  and  in  the  conclusion 
an  attempt  is  made  to  use  the  motives  as  tests  of  the  sound- 
ness of  different  philosophies. 


136 


XI 


CLIFFORD’S  “LECTURES  AND 
ESSAYS”  1 

[1879] 

It  is  impossible  to  read  tliese  volumes  without 
taking  an  even  greater  interest  in  the  human  charac- 
ter they  reveal  than  in  the  matters  of  which  they 
treat.  The  author  was  cut  down  last  March  at  the 
age  of  thirty-three.  Many  who  have  read  hastily 
and  at  long  intervals  the  essays  here  gathered  to- 
gether may  have  caught  the  impression  of  a genius 
too  iconoclastic  to  be  sympathetic,  too  fond  of 
paradoxical  statement  to  be  wise,  too  eager  for 
battle  to  be  fair;  but  the  massive  effect  of  all  the 
essays  taken  together  and  combined  with  the  per- 
sonal account  of  Clifford  in  the  introduction  strongly 
modifies  this  feeling.  We  see  a man  profuse  of  gifts 
of  body  and  mind,  of  “boundless  human  interests 
and  sympathies,”  so  intensely  social  that  “personal 
enmity  was  to  him  a thing  impossible” ; of  a genius 
in  mathematics  so  original  that  we  have  heard  an 

l1  Review  of  Lectures  and  Essays,  and  Seeing  and  Thinking, 
by  W.  K.  Clifford,  London  and  New  York,  1879.  Reprinted 
from  Nation,  1879,  29,  312-313.  Clifford’s  views  on  “The 
Ethics  of  Belief”  most  perfectly  embodied  that  vigorous  posi- 
tivism to  which  James  opposed  his  “Will-to-Believe”  doc- 
trine. See  references  to  Clifford  in  Will  to  Believe  (1897) 
passim.  Ed.] 


137 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 


authority  than  whom  none  could  be  more  compe- 
tent say  that  he  might  have  rivalled  the  fame  of 
Newton  had  he  lived;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  en- 
dowed with  that  sense  for  the  color  and  human 
expression  of  things  which  poets  have  and  mathe- 
maticians too  often  lack,  and  which  irradiates  every 
page  he  writes  with  humor  and  fancy ; of  insatiable 
curiosity,  but  as  eager  to  give  all  he  gained  as  to 
receive  it ; possessed  of  such  reckless  animal  spirits 
that  we  find  him  now  hanging  by  his  toes  on  the 
crossbars  of  a church-steeple  weather-cock,  now  per- 
forming the  almost  incredible  feat  of  writing  his 
articles  on  the  “Unseen  Universe”  and  on  Virchow’s 
address  each  in  a single  night — we  see  all  this,  and 
we  feel  that,  as  Mr.  Pollock  says,  his  printed  work 
must  be  a very  slender  representative  of  all  he 
was  to  those  who  knew  him,  and  that  the  incom- 
municable and  indescribable  thing  called  genius, 
das  DdmoniscJie , when  it  exists  in  a man  as  it  did 
in  him,  transcends  all  his  specific  performances, 
and,  “lightening  the  air  his  friends  breathe,”  may 
very  well  justify  them  in  making  claims  which  to 
the  distant  reader  sound  exorbitant. 

But  even  the  distant  reader  must  allow  that  Clif- 
ford’s mental  personality  belonged  to  the  highest 
possible  type,  to  say  no  more.  The  union  of  the 
mathematician  with  the  poet,  fervor  with  measure, 
passion  with  correctness,  this  surely  is  the  ideal. 
And  if  in  these  modern  days  we  are  to  look  for 
any  prophet  or  saviour  who  shall  influence  our  feel- 
ings towards  the  universe  as  the  founders  and  re- 


138 


[1879] 


CLIFFORD’S  “LECTURES” 


newers  of  past  religions  have  influenced  the  minds 
of  our  fathers,  that  prophet,  if  he  ever  come,  must, 
like  Clifford,  be  no  mere  sentimental  worshipper  of 
science,  but  an  expert  in  her  ways.  And  he  must 
have  what  Clifford  had  in  so  extraordinary  a de- 
gree— that  lavishly  generous  confidence  in  the 
worthiness  of  average  human  nature  to  be  told  all 
truth,  the  lack  of  which  in  Goethe  made  him  an  in- 
spiration to  the  few  but  a cold  riddle  to  the  many. 

But  why,  with  all  of  Clifford’s  powers,  does  the 
result  appear  so  small  ? Why  do  these  Jectures  seem 
to  the  reader  almost  funny  in  the  inadequacy  with 
which  they  shadow  forth  anything  fit  to  form  a 
“creed”  for  modern  life?  Why,  indeed,  to  put  the 
case  more  broadly,  would  an  almost  impossible 
cumulation  of  faculties  in  a single  man — Clifford’s 
scientific  faith  and  skill,  a poetic  craft  equal  to  his 
poetic  feeling,  a faculty  for  public  affairs  which  he 
never  possessed,  a genius  for  familiar  oratory,  an 
expansive  communicativeness,  and  a humanity 
greater  than  his — why  would  all  these  aptitudes  to- 
gether certainly  fail  now  to  give  their  possessor 
that  altogether  incalculable  sort  of  power  over  the 
mind  of  his  generation  which  the  prophets  of  the 
past  have  held?  The  answer  to  these  questions  is 
short  enough.  Our  modern  mind  is  nothing  if  not 
critical — the  craving  for  consistency  has  entered 
into  its  soul,  and  nothing  will  deeply  move  it  but  a 
synthesis  of  things  which  is  radically  reasoned  out. 
No  array  of  separate  gifts,  with  this  synthesis  still 
unachieved,  will  make  a prophet  now.  Ever  some 


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COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 


vital  factor  of  our  mental  life  will  rebel  and  refuse 
to  be  dragged  the  same  way  with  the  rest.  The 
miraculous  achievement,  the  achievement  upon 
which  we  are  all  waiting  for  our  faculties  to  burst 
into  movement  like  mill-wheels  at  the  touch  of  a 
torrent,  must  be  a metaphysical  achievement,  the 
greatest  of  all  time — the  demonstration,  namely, 
that  all  our  different  motives,  rightly  interpreted, 
pull  one  way.  Now  our  Science  tells  our  Faith 
that  she  is  shameful,  and  our  Hopes  that  they  are 
dupes ; our  Reverence  for  truth  leads  to  conclusions 
that  make  all  reverence  a falsehood ; our  new  Good, 
survival  of  our  tribe,  is  the  one  thing  certain  to 
perish  with  our  planet;  our  Freedom  annuls  our 
opportunities  for  lofty  deeds ; our  Equality  with  our 
brethren  quenches  all  tendency  to  be  proud  of  their 
brotherhood ; our  Art,  instead  of  intimating  divine 
secrets,  becomes  an  intellectual  sensuality,  reveal- 
ing no  secrets  but  those  of  our  nervous  systems ; our 
craving  for  personal  recognition  at  the  heart  of 
things  is  flatly  contradicted  by  our  persuasion  that 
we  none  of  us  possess  any  independent  personality 
at  all ; in  short,  if  we  wish  to  keep  in  action,  we  have 
no  resource  but  to  clutch  some  one  thing  out  of  the 
chaos  to  serve  as  our  hobby,  and  trust  to  our  native 
blindness  and  mere  animal  spirits  to  make  us  in- 
different to  the  loss  of  all  the  rest.  Can  the  synthe- 
sis and  reconciliation  come?  It  would  be  as  rash  to 
despair  of  it  as  to  swear  to  it  in  advance.  But  when 
it  does  come,  whatever  its  specific  character  may  be, 
it  will  necessarily  have  to  be  of  the  theoretic  order, 


140 


[1879] 


CLIFFORD’S  “LECTURES” 


a result  of  deeper  philosophic  analysis  and  discrimi- 
nation than  has  yet  been  made.  He  who  makes  it 
will  indeed  be  a leader  of  his  time ; for  then,  in  our 
author’s  words,  will  there  be  a “universe  fresh  born, 
a new  heaven,  a new  earth,  a new  elysium  open  to 
our  eager  feet.”  Then,  indeed,  will  la  verite  be  toute 
pour  tons,  in  the  phrase  which  the  editors  have 
placed  as  an  epigraph  on  the  title-page  of  these  lec- 
tures. Then  we  can  all  re-echo  with  Clifford : 

“If  a thing  is  true,  let  us  all  believe  it,  rich  and  poor, 
men,  women,  and  children.  If  a thing  is  untrue,  let  us 
all  disbelieve  it,  rich  and  poor,  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren. Truth  is  a thing  to  be  shouted  from  the  house- 
tops, not  to  be  whispered  over  lose-water  after  dinner, 
when  the  ladies  are  gone  away.  . . .” 

But  what  sort  of  a figure  does  Clifford’s  own  phi- 
losophy make  when  treated  in  this  fashion?  Surely 
there  never  was  an  intenser  illustration  than  is 
spread  out  in  these  pages  of  the  chaotic  state  of  our 
contemporary  thinking,  or  a creed  on  the  whole  less 
fit  to  be  proclaimed  to  the  people  as  the  matured 
and  clarified  result  of  scientific  thought.  There  are, 
of  course,  exquisitely  simple  and  vivid  statements 
of  particular  physical  theories.  It  is  hard  to  imag-  ■ 
ine  better  reading  to  inflame  a boy  with  thirst  for 
physics  than  the  lecture  on  “Atoms,”  and  the 
articles  entitled  “The  Unseen  Universe”  and  “The 
First  and  Last  Catastrophe.”  The  one  on  “Boun- 
daries” in  the  smaller  volume  is  marvellously  clear ; 
and  the  chapters  on  the  “Philosophy  of  the  Pure 
Sciences”  in  the  larger  form  as  luminous  an  in- 


141 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1879] 


troduction  to  mathematical  philosophy  as  was  ever 
written.  Image  after  image  of  perfect  felicity  pur- 
sue each  other  through  a style  of  which  the  only 
fault  is  too  great  ease  and  too  many  Saxon  words 
for  our  degenerate  ears.  But  in  the  fundamental 
ideas  what  mere  subjective  capriciousness ! A scep- 
ticism which  fears  to  call  the  axioms  of  geometry 
true,  but  which  takes  no  umbrage  at  the  self-contra- 
dictions of  continuity  and  infinite  division  in  space 
and  time;  a scrupulousness  which  speaks  with  all 
the  unction  of  the  theological  vocabulary  of  the 
“guilt”  and  “sin”  of  believing  even  the  truth  before 
it  has  been  scientifically  demonstrated,  but  which 
fears  not  to  lay  down  as  dogmas,  to  be  believed 
by  all,  such  pure  conceptions  of  the  possible  as  the 
existence  of  primordial  atoms  of  “mind-stuff”  which 
are  the  true  things  in  se,  the  impotence  of  feeling 
to  influence  action,  and  the  rigorous  fatality  of 
human  acts.  Then  as  to  Ethics : Clifford’s  great  dis- 
covery is  that  what  is  objectively  good , as  distin- 
guished from  what  is  merely  subjectively  pleasant, 
is  what  conduces  to  the  survival  of  the  tribe. 
Loyalty  to  truth  and  all  other  virtues  draw  their 
nobility  from  being  means  to  this  effect.  And  the 
symbolic  figure  of  the  tribe  is  invoked  as  a substi- 
tute for  superhuman  deities,  “a  grander  and  nobler 
figure”  than  theirs,  the  figure  of  “Him  who  made 
all  gods  and  shall  unmake  them”: 

“A  presence  in  which  one’s  own  poor  personality  is 
shrivelled  into  nothingness,  . . . which  in  moments  of 
utter  sincerity,  when  a man  has  bared  his  own  soul  be- 


142 


[1879] 


CLIFFORD’S  “LECTURES” 


fore  the  immensities  and  the  eternities,  arises  within 
him  and  says,  as  plainly  as  words  can  say,  T am  with 
thee,  and  I am  greater  than  thou.’  Many  names  of  gods, 
of  many  shapes,  have  men  given  to  this  presence ; seek- 
ing by  names  and  pictures  to  know  more  clearly  and  to 
remember  more  continually  the  guide  and  the  helper  of 
men.  No  such  comradeship  with  the  great  Companion 
shall  have  anything  but  reverence  from  me.  . . . From 
the  dim  dawn  of  history,  and  from  the  inmost  depth  of 
every  soul,  the  face  of  our  father  Man  looks  out  upon  us 
with  the  fire  of  eternal  youth  in  his  eyes,  and  says: 
‘Before  Jehovah  was,  I am!’  ” 

Surely  splendid  rhetoric;  but  observe  the  circle 
in  the  logic : “We  must  show  piety  to  our  race  be- 
cause our  race  is  worthy”  means,  simply  stated, 
that  we  must  help  it  to  survive  because  it  can  sur- 
vive. But  if  it  can  survive,  it  will  anyhow,  and 
needs  none  of  our  help.  Whilst,  if  it  needs  our  help, 
it  can’t  survive  per  se,  and  lacking,  therefore,  those 
attributes  which  we  learn  to  call  objectively  good, 
can  have  no  claim  on  our  sympathy.  In  any  case  we 
may  turn  our  backs  upon  it.  It  is  beside  the  mark 
to  say,  “As  a matter  of  fact  we  can’t  turn  our  backs ; 
instinct  forbids.”  Other  instincts  bid;  and  the 
whole  use  of  open-eyed  philosophy  is  to  teach  us 
how  we  ought  to  decide  when  our  blind  instincts 
clash.  Professor  Clifford’s  fine  organ-music,  like 
the  bands  and  torches  of  our  political  campaigns, 
must  be  meant  for  our  nerves  rather  than  for  our 
reason.  The  entire  modern  deification  of  survival  ' 
per  se,  survival  returning  into  itself,  survival  naked 
and  abstract,  with  the  denial  of  any  substantive  ex- 


143 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 


cellence  in  what  survives,  except  the  capacity  for 
more  survival  still,  is  surely  the  strangest  intellect- 
ual stopping-place  ever  proposed  by  one  man  to 
another. 

Take,  again,  Clifford’s  notion  that  high  action 
means  free  action.  Seating  himself  firmly  on  this 
high  horse,  he  immediately  proceeds  with  the  ut- 
most fury  to  chop  off  its  legs.  For  he  first  defines 
free  action  as  action  from  within,  and  then  describes 
action  from  within  as  that  whose  immediate  ante- 
cedents are  molecular,  and  not  the  massive  motions 
of  distant  bodies.  Think  of  firing  the  popular  heart 
for  virtue  by  promulgating,  as  the  only  true  and 
scientifically  warranted  moral  law,  the  formula: 
“So  act  that  all  thy  deeds  have  molecular,  not  mas- 
sive, antecedents” ! 

Clifford’s  great  metaphysical  theory  of  units  of 
mind-stuff  forming  things  in  themselves,  and  ap- 
pearing to  each  other  as  molecules  of  matter,  so  far 
from  clearing  up  our  ideas  makes  confusion  worse 
confounded  for  the  present.  It  would  really  require 
a fourth  or  a fifth  dimension  of  space  to  make  an 
intelligible  diagram  of  the  relations  between  the 
thing,  the  thought  of  the  thing,  and  the  brain  proc- 
ess subserving  the  thought,  which  this  theory  neces- 
sitates. But,  as  the  author  himself  says,  “the  ques- 
tion is  one  in  which  it  is  peculiarly  difficult  to 
make  out  precisely  what  another  man  means,  and 
even  what  one  means  one’s  self.”  Only  we  think  a 
clearer  grasp  of  this  theory  might  have  dispos- 
sessed from  Clifford’s  mind  that  other  theory,  that 


144 


[1879] 


CLIFFORD’S  “LECTURES” 


our  feelings  are  powerless  to  influence  our  deeds. 
The  theory  says  that  the  atoms  of  mind-stuff,  when 
they  fortuitously  coalesce  in  certain  ways,  form  a 
consciousness,  and  in  other  ways  do  not.  Now, 
noting  that  the  conscious  combinations  tend  the 
more  to  survive  as  their  consciousness  is  more  de- 
veloped, what  is  more  natural  than  to  conclude  that 
the  consciousness  as  such  aids  them  by  its  pres- 
ence, and  has  a real  utility,  making  self-preserva- 
tion the  end  for  which  it  actively  works , by  rein- 
forcing all  actions  and  feelings  which  lead  thereto, 
and  checking  all  the  rest?  But  this  conclusion 
would  oblige  us  to  ascribe  to  it  just  that  causal 
efficacy  which  Clifford  denies. 

Far  be  it  from  our  thought  to  cast  a stigma  on 
any  of  these  beliefs.  The  beliefs  which  have  moved  * 
the  world  have  always  been  directed  upon  some 
material  content,  and  have  been  quite  indifferent  to 
logic.  When  the  true  prophet  arises  the  right  will 
be  sifted  from  the  wrong  in  Clifford’s  doctrines,  and 
in  those  of  all  of  us.  Till  then  we  should  all  be 
left  free  to  mix  our  mental  porridge  as  we  please. 
What  we  complain  of  is  that  Clifford  should  have 
been  willing,  with  his  ideas  still  in  their  EalWieit 
and  unshapeliness,  to  use  the  conjuring  spell  of  the 
name  of  Science,  and  to  harp  on  Reverence  for  Truth 
as  means  whereby  to  force  them  on  the  minds  of 
simple  public  listeners,  and  so  still  more  unsettle 
what  is  already  too  perplexed.  Splintered  ends, 
broken  threads,  broken  lights,  and,  at  last,  broken 
hearts  and  broken  life ! So  ends  this  bright  romance ! 


145 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 

But  louder  aud  more  joyously  than  any  of  us  would 
its  generous  hero  have  sung : 

“Wo  immer  miide  Fecliter 
Sinken  im  muthigen  Strauss, 

Es  kommen  neue  Geschlechter 
Und  kampfen  es  ehrlich  aus.” 


140 


XII 


SPENCER’S  “DATA  OF  ETHICS”1 

[1879] 

The  facts  of  evolution  have  crowded  upon  the 
thinking  world  so  fast  within  the  last  few  years  that 
their  philosophy  has  fared  rather  hard.  Chaotic 
cohorts  of  outlandish  associates,  the  polyp’s  ten- 
tacles, the  throat  of  the  pitcher-plant,  the  nest  of 
the  bower-bird,  the  illuminated  hind-quarters  of  the 
baboon,  and  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  Dyaks 
and  Andamanese,  have  swept  like  a deluge  into  the 
decent  gardens  in  which,  with  her  disciples,  refined 
Philosophy  was  wont  to  pace,  and  have  left  but 
little  of  their  human  and  academic  scenery  erect. 
Many  of  the  previous  occupants,  though  broken- 
hearted at  the  desecration,  have  submitted,  in  a sort 
of  pessimistic  despair,  to  the  barbarian  invaders. 
Others,  temporarily  routed,  are  uncertain  what  to 
do.  The  victors  meanwhile,  intoxicated  with  suc- 
cess, assume,  for  the  most  part,  that  Philosophy  her- 
self is  dead,  or  that,  if  she  still  has  vitality  enough 
left  to  continue  propounding  any  of  her  silly  conun- 
drums, she  will  be  shamed  to  silence,  as  now  one, 
now  another,  of  the  conquering  ragged  regiment 

t1  Selections  from  a review  of  Spencer’s  Data  of  Ethics,  1879, 
printed  in  Nation,  1879,  29,  178-179.  Ed.] 


147 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 


stands  forth  to  face  her  down.  We  are  the  truth 
and  the  whole  truth,  they  cry.  Emotion,  in  short, 
has  paralyzed  reflection  on  both  sides,  as  it  always 
does  in  sudden  revolutions.  But  when  the  new- 
comers grow  accustomed  to  their  situation,  and  the 
original  possessors  get  better  acquainted  with  their 
strange  bedfellows,  things  will  settle  down  on  very 
much  the  old  basis. 


Whereas  to  all  other  revolutionary  moralists  the 
status  belli  has  received  a new  consecration  from  the 
new  ideas ; whereas  in  Germany  especially  the 
“struggle  for  existence”  has  been  made  the  bap- 
tismal formula  for  the  most  cynical  assertions  of 
brute  egoism;  with  Mr.  Spencer  the  same  theories 
have  bred  an  almost  Quakerish  huinanitarianism 
and  regard  for  peace.  Frequently  in  these  pages 
does  his  indignation  at  the  ruling  powers  of  Britain 
burst  forth,  for  their  policy  of  conquest  over  lower 
races.  Might,  in  his  eyes,  would  hardly  seem  to  be 
right,  even  when  evolution  is  carried  on  by  its 
means.  And  this  brings  us  to  the  only  criticism  we 
care  to  make.  We  can  never  on  evolutionist  princi- 
ples altogether  bar  out  personal  bias,  or  the  sub- 
jective method,  from  the  construction  of  the  ethical 
standard  of  right,  however  fatalistic  we  may  be. 
For  if  what  is  right  means  what  succeeds,  however 
fatally  doomed  to  succeed  that  thing  may  be,  it  yet 
succeeds  through  the  determinate  acts  of  determin- 
ate individuals ; and  until  it  has  been  revealed  what 

148 


[1879]  SPENCER’S  “DATA  OF  ETHICS” 


shall  succeed,  we  are  all  free  to  “go  in”  for  our  pref- 
erences and  try  to  make  them  right  by  making  them 
victorious.  Now,  it  may  be  strictly  true  that,  as 
Mr.  Spencer  says,  no  preference  of  ours  possibly  can 
succeed  in  the  long  run,  unless,  with  its  other  con- 
tents, it  be  also  a preference  for  peace,  justice,  and 
sympathy.  But  we  still  are  free  to  decide  when  to 
settle  down  on  the  equitable  and  peaceful  basis.  A 
postponement  of  fifty  years  may  wipe  the  Sioux  and 
Zulus  out  of  the  game,  and  with  them  the  type  of 
character  which  they  represent.  Evolutionists  must  * 
not  forget  that  we  all  have  five  fingers  merely  be- 
cause the  first  vertebrate  above  the  fishes  happened 
to  have  that  number.  He  owed  his  prodigious  sue-  * 
cess  in  founding  a line  of  descent  to  some  entirely 
other  quality — we  know  not  which  as  yet — but  the 
inessential  five  fingers  were  taken  in  tow  and  pre- 
served to  the  present  day.  So  of  minor  moral 
points;  we  have  to  decide  which  of  them  the  peace 
and  sympathy  shall  take  in  tow  and  carry  on  to 
triumph.  What  kind  of  fellows  shall  we  be  willing 
to  be  peaceful  with,  and  whose  sympathy  shall  we 
enjoy?  An  unlettered  workingman  of  the  writer’s 
acquaintance  once  made  the  profound  remark : 
“There’s  very  little  difference  betwixt  one  man  and 
another,  but  what  little  there  is  is  very  important.” 
Shall  we  settle  down  to  peaceful  competition 
already  now  with  the  Chinese?  shall  our  messmates 
in  the  millennial  equilibrium  be  of  the  fat-minded 
Esquimaux  type?  or  shall  we  put  up  with  some  gen- 
erations more  of  status  belli  in  order  to  get  a good 


149 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0879] 


congenial  working  majority  of  artists,  metaphysi- 
cians, wits,  and  yearners  after  the  ineffable  with 
whom  we  may  live  contented?  According  to  evolu- 
tion each  human  type  and  exemplar  of  character 
has  small  beginnings  like  everything  else.  The 
“best”  is  that  which  has  the  biggest  endings.  Mine 
may  have  these  if  I get  ahead  and  violently  crush 
yours  out  in  time ; yours,  if  I let  the  precious  occa- 
sion slip  and  you  outgrow  and  suppress  me.  For 
the  conditions  which  once  produced  me,  just  as  I 
am,  may  never  recur  again. 

Mr.  Spencer  has  forgotten  to  consider  this  inevit- 
able field  of  warring  antipathies,  in  which  each  must 
just  fight  doggedly  and  hope  the  event  may  prove 
him  right.  Or  probably  he  has  not  so  much  forgot- 
ten as  contemned  it  in  his  vast  dream  of  universal 
fatalism. 


150 


XIII 


THE  FEELIXG  OF  EFFOET 1 

[1880] 

La  locomotion  animate  n’a  nul  rapport  direct  avec  ce 
qu’on  appelle  velonte.  . . . L’effort,  le  nisus,  ne  doit 
pas  etre  flxe  dans  le  rapport  de  la  volition  avec  l’acte 
propre  du  mobile  materiel.  . . . L’effort,  dans  l’accep- 
tion  rationnelle  de  ce  mot,  est  le  rapport  de  la  represen- 
tation avec  elle-meme.  Renouvier. 

I propose  in  the  following  pages  to  offer  a scheme 
of  the  physiology  and  psychology  of  volition,  more 
completely  worked  out  and  satisfactory  than  any  I 
have  yet  met  with.  The  matter  is  a little  intricate, 
and  I shall  have  to  ask  the  reader  to  bear  patiently 
a good  deal  of  detail  for  the  sake  of  the  importance 
of  the  result. 

That  we  have  a feeling  of  effort  there  can  be  no 
doubt.  Popular  language  has  sufficiently  conse- 
crated the  fact  by  the  institution  of  the  word  effort, 
and  its  synonyms  exertion,  striving,  straining.  The 
difference  between  a simply  passive  sensation,  and 

P Reprinted  from  the  Anniversary  Memoirs  of  the  Boston 
Society  of  Natural  History,  Boston,  1880,  pp.  32.  It  was  sum- 
marized by  the  Editor  of  Mind,  1880,  5,  p.  582.  It  constitutes 
the  author’s  earliest  discussions  of  the  will,  the  “feeling  of  in- 
nervation,” ideo-motor  action,  and  the  psychology  of  free-will. 
Pp.  163-174  were  reprinted  in  the  Principles  of  Psychology,  1890, 
II,  pp.  503-511.  But  in  the  main  Chapter  XXVI  of  the  Prin- 
ciples is  a rewriting  rather  than  a reprinting  of  the  present 
article.  Ed.] 


151 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1880] 


one  in  which  the  elements  of  volition  and  attention 
are  found,  has  also  been  recorded  by  popular  speech 
in  the  difference  between  such  verbs  as  to  see  and  to 
look;  to  hear  and  to  listen;  to  smell  and  to  scent; 
to  feel  and  to  touch.  Effort,  attention,  and  volition 
are,  in  fact,  similar  elements  of  Feeling  differing  all 
in  the  same  generic  manner  from  its  receptive,  or 
simply  sensational  elements ; and  forming  the  active 
as  distinguished  from  the  passive  parts  of  our 
mental  nature.  This  distinction  is  styled  by  Bain 
the  most  vital  one  within  the  sphere  of  mind;  and 
at  all  times  psychologists  of  the  a 'priori  school  have 
emphasized  the  utter  opposition  between  our  con- 
sciousness of  spontaneity  or  outgoing  energy,  and 
the  consciousness  of  any  mere  impression  whatever. 

Fully  admitting  the  feelings  of  active  energy  as 
mental  facts,  our  question  simply  is  of  what  n ervous 
processes  are  they  concomitants ? As  the  feeling  of 
effort  is  nowhere  more  coarsely  and  obviously  pres- 
ent than  in  the  phenomenon  of  muscular  exertion, 
let  us  limit  our  inquiry  first  to  that. 

I.  Muscular  Exertion  an  Afferent  Feeling 

Johannes  Muller  was,  so  far  as  I know,  the  first 
to  say1  that  the  nerve-process  accompanying  the 
feeling  of  muscular  exertion  is  the  discharge  from 
the  motor  centre  into  the  motor  nerve.  The  sup- 
position is  a most  natural  and  plausible  one ; for  if 
afferent  nerve  processes  are  felt,  each  in  its  cliarac- 

1 Physiologic,  1S40,  Bd.  ii,  p.  500. 

152 


[18S0]  the  feeling  of  effort 


teristic  way,  why  should  not  efferent  processes  be 
felt  by  equal  right,  and  with  equally  characteristic 
qualities?  Accordingly  we  find  in  writers  of  all 
nations  since  Muller’s  time,  repetitions  implicit  or 
explicit,  of  his  suggestion.  But  the  authors  who 
have  most  emphatically  insisted  on  it,  and  raised  it 
to  the  position  of  a fundamental  doctrine,  are  Bain, 
Hughlings  Jackson  and  Wundt. 

Bain  says:  “The  sensibility  accompanying  mus- 
cular movement  coincides  with  the  outgoing  stream 
of  nervous  energy,  and  does  not,  as  in  the  case  of 
pure  sensation,  result  from  any  influence  passing 
inwards,  by  incarrying  or  sensitive  nerves.”1 

Jackson  writes : “Sensations,  in  the  sense  of  men- 
tal states,  arise,  I submit,  during  energizing  of 
motor  as  well  as  of  sensory  nerve  processes — with 
the  outgoing  as  well  as  with  the  ingoing  current.”2 

Wundt  separates  the  feeling  of  force  exerted, 
from  the  feeling  of  effected  movement.3  And  in 
later  writings  he  adopts  the  term  Innervationsgefilhl 
to  designate  the  former  in  relation  to  its  supposed 
cause,  the  efferent  discharge.  Feelings  of  innerva- 
tion have  since  then  become  household  words  in 
psychological  literature.  Two  English  writers 
only,  so  far  as  I know,  Dr.  Charlton  Bastian  and 

1  The  Senses  and  the  Intellect.  3d  edition,  p.  77. 

2 Clinical  and  Physiological  Researches  on  the  Nervous  Sys- 
tem (reprinted  from  the  Lancet,  1873),  London,  J.  & A. 
Churchill,  p.  xxxiv.  See  also  this  author’s  very  original  though 
somewhat  obscure  paper  on  “Aphasia”  in  Brain  for  October, 
1879,  p.  351. 

3 Beitrdge  zur  Theorie  der  Sinnesivahrnelimung,  p.  420. 
Physiologische  Psychologie,  p.  316. 


153 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £188°1 


Dr.  Perrier,  have  expressed  skepticism  as  to  the 
existence  of  any  feelings  connected  with  the  efferent 
nervous  discharge.  But  their  arguments  being  im- 
perfect, and  in  the  case  of  Bastian  rather  confusedly 
expressed,  have  passed  unnoticed.  Lotze  in  Ger- 
many has  also  raised  a skeptical  voice,  but  has  not 
backed  his  doubts  by  many  arguments.1  The  noto- 
rious existence  of  the  feeling  of  effort  in  muscular 
exertion;  the  fact  that  the  efferent  discharge  there 
plays  the  principal  role,  and  the  plausibility  of  the 
postulate  so  often  insisted  on  by  Lewes  that  identity 
of  structure  involves  identity  of  function,  have  all 
conspired  to  make  us  almost  believe,  as  a matter  of 
course,  that  motor  cells  when  they  discharge  into 
motor  fibres,  should  have  their  own  “specific  energy” 
of  feeling,  and  that  this  should  be  no  other  than  the 
sense  of  energy  put  forth. 

In  opposition  to  this  popular  view,  I maintain 
that  the  feeling  of  muscular  energy  put  forth  is  a 
complex  afferent  sensation  coming  from  the  tense 
muscles,  the  strained  ligaments,  squeezed  joints, 
fixed  chest,  closed  glottis,  contracted  brow,  clenched 
jaws,  etc.,  etc.  That  there  is  over  and  above  this 
another  feeling  of  effort  involved,  I do  not  deny ; but 
this  latter  is  purely  moral  and  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  motor  discharge.  We  shall  study  it  at  the  end 
of  this  essay,  and  shall  find  it  to  be  essentially  iden- 
tical with  the  effort  to  remember,  with  the  effort  to 
make  a decision,  or  to  attend  to  a disagreeable  task. 

1 See  his  Metapliysilc,  1869,  p.  589.  See  also  Revue  Philo- 
sophique,  t.  iv,  p.  359. 


154 


£1880]  THE  feeling  of  effort 


First  then,  let  us  disprove  the  notion  that  there  is 
any  feeling  connected  with  the  motor  or  efferent 
nervous  discharge.  We  may  begin  by  asking : Why 
should  there  be?  Even  accepting  Lewes’s  postulate 
in  the  abstract,  what  degree  of  “identity”  should  be 
demanded  between  the  afferent  and  efferent  nerve 
apparatus,  to  insure  their  being  both  alike,  “sen- 
tient”? Even  to  our  coarse  optical  examination,  the 
sensory  and  the  motor  cells  are  widely  different. 
But  apart  from  a 'priori  postulates,  and  however 
strange  to  logic  it  may  appear,  it  is  a fact  that  the 
motor  apparatus  is  absolutely  insentient  in  an  affer- 
ent direction,  although  we  know  that  the  fibres  of 
the  anterior  root  will  propagate  a disturbance  in 
that  direction  as  well  as  in  the  other.  Why  may  not 
this  result  from  a true  insentiency  in  the  motor  cell, 
an  insentiency  which  would  accompany  all  action 
there,  and  characterize  its  normal  discharges  as  well 
as  the  unnatural  irritations  made  by  the  knife  of  the 
surgeon  or  the  electrodes  of  the  physiologist  upon 
the  motor  nerve. 

Plausibility  accrues  to  this  presumption  when  we 
call  to  mind  this  general  law : that  consciousness 
seems  to  desert  all  processes  where  it  can  no  longer 
be  of  any  use.  The  tendency  of  consciousness  to  a 
minimum  of  complication  is  in  fact  a dominating 
law  in  Psychology.  The  logical  law  of  parsimony  is 
only  its  best-known  case.  We  grow  unconscious  of  * 
every  feeling  which  is  useless  as  a sign  to  lead  us  to 
our  ends,  and  where  one  sign  will  suffice,  others  drop 
out,  and  that  one  remains  to  function  alone.  We 


155 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0880] 


observe  this  in  the  whole  history  of  sense  per- 
ception, and  in  the  acquisition  of  every  art.  We 
ignore  which  eye  we  see  with,  because  a fixed 
mechanical  association  has  been  formed  between 
our  motions  and  each  retinal  image.  Our  motions 
are  the  ends  of  our  seeing,  our  retinal  images  the 
signals  to  these  ends.  If  each  retinal  image,  which- 
ever it  be,  can  suggest  automatically  a motion 
in  the  right  direction,  what  need  for  us  to  know 
whether  it  be  in  the  right  eye  or  the  left?  The 
knowledge  would  be  superfluous  complication.  So 
in  acquiring  any  art  or  voluntary  function.  The 
marksman  thinks  only  of  the  exact  position  of  the 
goal,  the  singer  only  of  the  perfect  sound,  the  bal- 
ancer only  of  the  point  in  space  whose  oscillations 
he  must  counteract  by  movement.  The  associated 
mechanism  has  become  so  perfect  in  all  these  per- 
sons, that  each  variation  in  the  thought  of  the  end, 
is  functionally  correlated  with  the  one  movement 
fitted  to  bring  the  latter  about.  Whilst  they  were 
tyros,  they  thought  of  their  means  as  well  as  their 
end ; the  marksman  of  the  position  of  his  gun  or  bow, 
or  the  weight  of  his  stone,  the  pianist  of  the  visible 
position  of  the  note  on  the  keyboard,  the  singer  of 
his  throat  or  breathing,  the  balancer  of  his  feet  on 
the  rope,  or  his  hand  or  chin  under  the  pole.  But 
little  by  little  they  succeeded  in  dropping  all  this 
supernumerary  consciousness,  and  they  became 
secure  in  their  movements  exactly  in  proportion  as 
they  did  so. 

Now  if  we  analyze  the  nervous  mechanism  of  vol- 
156 


[1880]  the  feeling  of  effoet 


untary  action,  we  shall  see  that  by  virtue  of  this 
principle  of  parsimony  in  consciousness,  the  motor 
discharge  ought  to  be  devoid  of  sentience.  The  es- 
sentials of  a voluntary  movement  are : 1,  a prelimi- 
nary idea  of  the  end  we  wish  to  attain ; 2,  a “fiat” ; 
3,  an  appropriate  muscular  contraction;  4,  the  end 
felt  as  actually  accomplished.  In  man,  at  any  rate, 
it  is  admitted  that  the  idea  of  the  end  and  the  mus- 
cular contraction  were  originally  coupled  by  empir- 
ical association;  that  is  to  say,  the  child  with  his 
end  in  view,  made  random  movements  until  he  acci- 
dentally found  one  to  fit.  This  movement  awakened 
its  own  characteristic  feeling  which  thenceforward 
remained  with  him  as  the  idea  of  the  movement 
appropriate  to  that  particular  end.  If  the  man 
should  acquire  a million  distinct  ends,  he  must 
acquire  a million  such  motor  ideas  and  a million 
connections  between  them  and  the  ends.  But  one 
such  connection,  subserved  by  an  exclusive  nerve 
tract  used  for  no  other  purpose,  will  be  enough  for 
each  end.  The  end  conceived  will,  when  these  asso- 
ciations are  formed,  always  awaken  its  own  proper 
motor  idea.  As  for  the  manner  in  which  this  idea 
awakens  its  own  proper  movement — the  one  which 
will  convert  it  from  an  idea  into  an  actual  sensation 
— the  simplest  possible  arrangement  would  be  to  let 
it  serve  directly  (through  its  peculiar  neural  proc- 
ess) as  a stimulus  to  the  special  motor  centre,  the 
ultimate  sensible  effect  of  whose  discharge  it  pre- 
figures and  represents. 

The  ordinary  theory,  however,  makes  the  matter 
157 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0880] 


much  more  complicated.  The  idea  of  the  end  is 
supposed  to  awaken  first  a feeling  of  the  proper 
motor  innervation,  and  this,  when  adjudged  right, 
to  discharge  the  muscular  combination. 

Now  what  can  be  gained  by  the  interposition  of 
this  second  relay  of  feeling  between  the  idea  and 
the  movement?  Nothing  on  the  score  of  economy 
of  nerve  tracts;  for  it  takes  just  as  many  of  them 
to  associate  a million  ideas  with  a million  motor 
feelings,1  each  specific,  as  to  associate  the  same 
million  ideas  with  a million  insentient  motor  cen- 
tres. And  nothing  on  the  score  of  precision;  for 
the  only  conceivable  way  in  which  they  might  fur- 
ther precision  would  be  by  giving  to  a mind  whose 
notion  of  the  end  was  vague,  a sort  of  halting  stage 
with  sharper  imagery  on  which  to  collect  its  wits 
before  uttering  its  fiat.  But  not  only  are  the  con- 
scious discriminations  between  “ends”  much 
sharper  than  any  one  pretends  the  shades  of  dif- 
ference between  feelings  of  innervation  to  be,  but 
even  were  this  not  the  case,  it  is  impossible  to 
see  how  a mind  with  its  end  vaguely  conceived, 
could  tell  out  of  a lot  of  Innervationsgefuhle,  were 
they  never  so  sharply  differentiated,  which  one 
fitted  that  end  exactly,  and  which  did  not.  A 
sharply  conceived  end  will  on  the  other  hand  di- 
rectly awaken  a distinct  movement  as  easily  as  it 
will  awaken  a distinct  feeling  of  innervation.  If 
feelings  can  go  astray  through  vagueness,  surely  the 

1 The  association  between  the  two  orders  of  feeling  being  of 
course  brought  about  by  a separate  neural  connection  between 
the  tracts  supporting  each. 


158 


[1880]  THE  feeling  of  effort 


fewer  steps  of  feeling  there  are  interposed,  the  more 
securely  we  shall  act.  We  ought  then  on  a priori 
grounds  alone  to  regard  the  Innervationsgefiihl  as  a 
pure  encumbrance. 

Let  us  turn  now  to  a posteriori  evidence. 

It  is  a notorious  fact,  recognized  by  all  writers1 
on  voluntary  motion,  that  the  will  seems  concerned 
only  with  results  and  not  with  the  muscular  details 
by  which  they  are  executed.  But  when  we  say 
“results,”  what  is  it  exactly  that  we  mean?  We 
mean,  of  course,  the  movements  objectively  consid- 
ered, and  revealing  themselves  (as  either  accom- 
plished or  in  process  of  being  accomplished)  to  our 
sensible  perceptions.  Our  idea,  notion,  thought,  of 
a movement,  what  we  mean  whenever  we  speak  of 
the  movement,  is  this  sensible  perception  which  we 
get  of  it  when  it  is  taking  place,  or  has  completely 
occurred. 

What  then  is  this  sensible  perception? 

What  does  it  introspectively  seem  to  be?  I un- 
hesitatingly answer:  an  aggregate  of  afferent  feel- 
ings, coming  primarily  from  the  contraction  of 
muscles,  the  stretching  of  tendons,  ligaments,  and 
skin,  and  the  rubbing  and  pressing  of  joints;  and 
secondarily,  from  the  eye,  the  ear,  the  skin,  nose, 
or  palate,  any  or  all  of  which  may  be  indirectly 
affected  by  the  movement  as  it  takes  place  in  an- 
other part  of  the  body.  The  only  idea  of  a move- 

1 By  no  one  more  clearly  set  forth  than  by  Hume  himself  in 
his  essay  on  the  “Idea  of  Necessary  Connection.”  The  best 
recent  statement  I know  is  by  Jaccoud : Des  ParapUgies  et  de 
VAtaxie  du  Mouvement,  Paris,  1864,  p.  591. 


159 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  f188°l 


ment  which  we  can  possess  is  composed  of  images  of 
these,  its  afferent  effects.  By  these  differences  alone 
are  movements  mentally  distinguished  from  each 
other,  and  these  differences  are  sufficient  for  all  the 
discriminations  we  can  possibly  need  to  make  when 
we  intend  one  movement  rather  than  another. 

The  recent  writers  who  have  been  prompt  to 
recognize  the  fact  that  volition  is  directed  only  to 
results,  have  hardly  been  sensible  of  the  far-reach- 
ing consequences  of  this  admission, — consequences 
which  will  develop  themselves  as  our  inquiry  pro- 
ceeds. Meanwhile  one  immediate  conclusion  fol- 
lows : namely,  that  there  are  no  such  things  as 
efferent  feelings,  or  feelings  of  innervation.  These 
are  wholly  mythological  entities.  Whoever  says 
that  in  raising  his  arm  he  is  ignorant  of  how  many 
muscles  he  contracts,  in  what  order  of  sequence, 
and  in  what  degrees  of  intensity,  expressly  avows  a 
colossal  amount  of  unconsciousness  of  the  processes 
of  motor  discharge.  Each  separate  muscle  at  any 
rate  cannot  have  its  distinct  feeling  of  innervation. 
Wundt,1  who  makes  such  enormous  use  of  these 
hypothetical  feelings  in  his  psychologic  construc- 
tion of  space,  is  himself  led  to  admit  that  they  have 
no  differences  of  quality,  but  feel  alike  in  all 
muscles,  and  vary  only  in  their  degrees  of  intensity.2 

1 Leidesdorf  u.  Meynert’s  Vierteljsch.  f.  Psychiatric,  Bd.  i, 
Heft  i,  S.  36-87,  1867.  Physiologische  Psychologic,  S.  316. 

“Harless,  in  an  article  which  in  many  respects  forestalls  what 
I have  to  say  (“Der  Apparat  des  Willens,”  in  Fichte’s 
Zeitschrift  f.  Philos.,  Bd.  38,  1861),  uses  the  convenient  word 
Effectshild  to  designate  our  idea  of  this  sensory  result  of  a 
movement. 


160 


[1880]  THE  FEELING  OF  EFFORT 


They  are  used  by  the  mind  as  guides,  not  of  what 
movement,  but  of  how  strong  a movement  it  is  mak- 
ing, or  shall  make.  But  does  not  this  virtually  sur- 
render their  existence  altogether? 

For  if  anything  be  obvious  to  introspection  it  is 
that  the  degree  of  strength  of  our  muscular  con- 
tractions is  completely  revealed  to  us  by  afferent 
feelings  coming  from  the  muscles  themselves  and 
their  insertions,  from  the  vicinity  of  the  joints, 
and  from  the  general  fixation  of  the  larynx, 
chest,  face,  and  body,  in  the  phenomenon  of 
effort,  objectively  considered.  When  a certain 
degree  of  energy  of  contraction  rather  than  another 
is  thought  of  by  us,  this  complex  aggregate  of 
afferent  feelings,  forming  the  material  of  our 
thought,  renders  absolutely  precise  and  distinctive 
our  mental  image  of  the  exact  strength  of  movement 
to  be  made,  and  the  exact  amount  of  resistance1  to  be 
overcome. 

Let  the  reader  try  to  direct  his  will  towards  a 
particular  movement,  and  then  notice  what  consti- 
tuted the  direction  of  the  will.  Was  it  anything 
over  and  above  the  notion  of  the  different  feelings  to 
which  the  movement  when  effected  would  give  rise? 
If  we  abstract  from  these  feelings,  will  any  sign, 
principle,  or  means  of  orientation  be  left,  by  which 
the  will  may  innervate  the  right  muscles  with  the 
right  intensity,  and  not  go  astray  into  the  wrong 
ones?  Strip  off  these  images  of  result,1  and  so  far 

‘We  speak  here  only  of  the  muscular  exertion,  properly  so 
called.  The  difficulty  often  involved  in  making  the  fiat  still 
remains  a reserved  question. 

161 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0880] 


from  leaving  us  witli  a complete  assortment  of  direc- 
tions into  which  our  will  may  launch  itself,  ydu 
leave  our  consciousness  in  an  absolute  and  total 
vacuum.  If  I will  to  write  “Peter”  rather  than 
“Paul,”  it  is  the  thought  of  certain  digital  sensa- 
tions, of  certain  alphabetic  sounds,  of  certain  ap- 
pearances on  the  paper,  and  of  no  others,  which 
immediately  precedes  the  motion  of  my  pen. 

If  I will  to  utter  the  word  Paul  rather  than  Peter , 
it  is  the  thought  of  my  voice  falling  on  my  ear,  and 
of  certain  muscular  feelings  in  my  tongue,  lips,  and 
larynx,  which  guide  the  utterance.  All  these  feel- 
ings are  afferent,  and  between  the  thought  of  them, 
by  which  the  act  is  mentally  specified  with  all  pos- 
sible completeness,  and  the  act  itself,  there  is  no 
room  for  any  third  order  of  mental  phenomenon. 
Except,  indeed,  what  I have  called  the  fiat,  the  ele- 
ment of  consent,  or  resolve  that  the  act  shall  ensue. 
This,  doubtless,  to  the  reader’s  mind,  as  to  my  own, 
constitutes  the  essence  of  the  voluntariness  of  the 
act.  This  fiat  will  be  treated  of  in  detail  farther 
on.  It  may  be  entirely  neglected  here,  for  it  is  a 
constant  coefficient,  affecting  all  voluntary  actions 
alike,  and  incapable  of  serving  to  distinguish  them. 
No  one  will  pretend  that  its  quality  varies  accord- 
ing as  the  right  or  the  left  arm,  for  example,  is  used. 

So  far  then,  we  seem  free  to  conclude  that  an 
anticipatory  image  of  the  sensorial  consequences  of 
a movement,  hard  or  easy,  'plus  the  fiat  that  these 
consequences  shall  become  actual,  ought  to  be  able 
to  discharge  directly  the  special  movement  with 


162 


[1880]  the  feeling  of  effort 


which  in  our  past  experiences  the  particular  con- 
sequences were  combined  as  effects.  Furthermore,* 
there  is  no  introspective  evidence  whatever  of  the 
existence  of  any  intermediate  feelings,  possessing 
either  qualitative  or  quantitative  differences,  and 
accompanying  the  efferent  discharge.1 

Is  there,  notwithstanding,  any  circumstantial  evi- 
dence? At  first  sight,  it  appears  as  if  the  circum- 
stantial evidence  in  favor  of  efferent  feelings  were 
very  strong.  Wundt  says2  that  were  our  motor 
feelings  of  an  afferent  nature,  ‘fit  ought  to  be  ex- 
pected that  they  would  increase  and  diminish  with 
the  amount  of  outer  or  inner  work  actually  effected 
in  contraction.  This,  however,  is  not  the  case,  but 
the  strength  of  the  motor  sensation  is  purely  propor- 
tional to  the  strength  of  the  impulse  to  movement, 
which  starts  from  the  central  organ  innervating  the 
motor  nerves.  This  may  be  proved  by  observations 
made  by  physicians  in  cases  of  morbid  alteration  in 
the  muscular  effect.  A patient  whose  arm  or  leg  is 
half  paralyzed,  so  that  he  can  only  move  the  limb 
with  great  effort,  has  a distinct  feeling  of  this  effort ; 
the  limb  seems  to  him  heavier  than  before,  appear- 
ing as  if  weighted  with  lead;  he  has,  therefore,  a 
sense  of  more  work  effected  than  formerly,  and  yet 
the  effected  work  is  either  the  same  or  even  less. 
Only  he  must,  to  get  even  this  effect,  exert  a 

'The  various  degrees  of  difficulty  with  which  the  fiat  is  given 
form  a complication  of  the  utmost  importance,  reserved  for 
discussion  further  on. 

2 Vorlesungen  iiher  Menschen  und  Thierseele,  Bd.  i,  p.  222. 

163 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0880] 


stronger  innervation,  a stronger  motor  impulse  than 
formerly.” 

In  complete  paralysis  also,  patients  will  be  con- 
scious of  putting  forth  the  greatest  exertion  to  move 
a limb  whicli  remains  absolutely  still  upon  the  bed, 
and  from  which  of  course  no  afferent  muscular  or 
other  feelings  can  come.1 

Dr.  Ferrier  in  his  Functions  of  the  Brain  (Am. 
Ed.  pp.  222-224)  disposes  very  easily  of  this  line  of 
argument.  He  says:  “It  is  necessary,  however,  to 
exclude  movements  altogether  before  such  an  expla- 
nation [as  Wundt’s]  can  be  adopted.  Now,  though 
the  hemiplegic  patient  cannot  move  his  paralyzed 
limb,  though  he  is  conscious  of  trying  hard,  yet  he 
will  be  found  to  be  making  powerful  muscular  exer- 

1 In  some  instances  we  get  an  opposite  result.  Dr.  H.  Charlton 
Bastian  ( British  Medical  Journal,  1869,  p.  461,  note)  says: 

“Ask  a man  whose  lower  extremities  are  completely  par- 
alyzed, whether,  when  he  ineffectually  wills  to  move  either  of 
these  limbs,  he  is  conscious  of  an  expenditure  of  energy  in  any 
degree  proportionate  to  that  which  he  would  have  experienced 
if  his  muscles  had  naturally  responded  to  his  volition.  He  will 
tell  us  rather  that  he  has  a sense  only  of  his  utter  powerless- 
ness, and  that  his  volition  is  a mere  mental  act,  carrying  with 
it  no  feelings  of  expended  energy  such  as  he  is  accustomed  to 
experience  when  his  muscles  are  in  powerful  action,  and  from 
which  action  and  its  consequences  alone,  as  I think,  he  can 
derive  any  adequate  notion  of  resistance.” 

Dr.  J.  J.  Putnam  has  quite  recently  reported  to  me  a case 
of  this  sort  of  only  a few  months’  standing.  Many  amputated 
patients  who  still  feel  their  lost  limbs  are  unable  to  make  any 
conscious  effort  to  move  them.  One  such  case  informs  me 
that  he  feels  more  able  to  will  a distant  table  to  move,  than 
to  exert  the  same  volition  over  his  acutely-felt  lost  leg.  Others, 
on  the  contrary  (vide  Weir  Mitchell’s  book  on  Gunshot  In- 
juries to  Nerves),  say  they  can  not  only  will,  but,  as  far  as 
their  feeling  is  concerned,  execute , movements  of  their  ampu- 


164 


[1880] 


THE  FEELING  OF  EFFORT 


tion  of  some  kind.  Vulpian  has  called  attention  to 
the  fact,  and  I have  repeatedly  verified  it,  that  when 
a hemiplegic  patient  is  desired  to  close  his  paralyzed 
fist,  in  his  endeavors  to  do  so  he  unconsciously  per- 
forms this  action  with  the  sound  one.  It  is,  in  fact, 
almost  impossible  to  exclude  such  a source  of  com- 
plication, and  unless  this  is  taken  into  account  very 
erroneous  conclusions  as  to  the  cause  of  the  sense  of 
effort  may  be  drawn.  In  the  fact  of  muscular  con- 
traction and  the  concomitant  centripetal  impres- 
sions, even  though  the  action  is  not  such  as  is  de- 
sired, the  conditions  of  the  consciousness  of  effort  ex- 
ist without  our  being  obliged  to  regard  it  as  depend- 
ing on  central  innervation  or  outgoing  currents. 

“It  is,  however,  easy  to  make  an  experiment  of  a 

tated  limbs.  It  would  be  extremely  interesting  to  unravel  the 
causes  of  these  divergences.  May  it  be  that  in  recent  cases  with 
the  recollection  of  varied  movements  fresh  in  the  mind,  the 
patient  has  a stock  of  distinct  images  of  position  on  which  to 
base  his  fiat;  while  in  an  inveterate  case,  either  of  paralysis 
with  contraction,  or  of  amputation  with  consciousness  of  the 
limb  in  an  invariable  position,  reminiscences  of  other  positions 
have  through  long  desuetude  become  so  incapable  of  revival 
that  there  is  no  preliminary  idea  of  an  End  for  the  fiat  to  knit 
itself  to.  Such  a supposition  conforms  well  to  the  utterances 
of  two  amputated  persons  with  whom  I have  conversed.  They 
said  it  was  like  “willing  into  the  void,”  they  “did  not  know  how 
to  set  about  it,”  and  so  forth.  The  recency  of  Dr.  Putnam’s 
case  above  mentioned  seems,  however,  to  conflict  with  such  an 
explanation  and  I only  make  the  suggestions  in  the  hope  that 
some  one  with  better  opportunities  for  observation  than  I 
possess,  may  become  interested  in  the  matter.  I may  add  that 
in  teaching  a new  and  unnatural  movement,  the  starting-point 
is  to  awaken  by  its  passive  production  a distinct  sense  of  what 
the  movement,  if  effected,  would  feel  like.  This  defines  the 
direction  of  the  exertion  the  pupil  is  to  make. 


165 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  DSSO] 


simple  nature  which  will  satisfactorily  account  for 
the  sense  of  effort,  even  when  these  unconscious  con- 
tractions of  the  other  side,  such  as  hemiplegics 
make,  are  entirely  excluded. 

“If  the  reader  will  extend  his  right  arm  and  hold 
his  forefinger  in  the  position  required  for  pulling 
the  trigger  of  a pistol,  he  may  without  actually  mov- 
ing his  finger,  but  by  simply  making  believe,  experi- 
ence a consciousness  of  energy  put  forth.  Here, 
then,  is  a clear  case  of  consciousness  of  energy  with- 
out actual  contraction  of  the  muscles  either  of  the 
one  hand  or  the  other,  and  without  any  perceptible 
bodily  strain.  If  the  reader  will  again  perform  the 
experiment,  and  pay  careful  attention  to  the  condi- 
tion of  his  respiration,  he  will  observe  that  his  con- 
sciousness of  effort  coincides  with  a fixation  of  the 
muscles  of  his  chest,  and  that  in  proportion  to  the 
amount  of  energy  he  feels  he  is  putting  forth,  he  is 
keeping  his  glottis  closed  and  actively  contracting 
his  respiratory  muscles.  Let  him  place  his  finger  as 
before,  and  continue  breathing  all  the  time,  and  he 
will  find  that  however  much  he  may  direct  his  atten- 
tion to  his  finger,  he  will  experience  not  the  slightest 
trace  of  consciousness  of  effort  until  he  has  actually 
moved  the  finger  itself,  and  then  it  is  referred 
locally  to  the  muscles  in  action.  It  is  only  when 
this  essential  and  ever  present  respiratory  factor  is, 
as  it  has  been,  overlooked,  that  the  consciousness  of 
effort  can  with  any  degree  of  plausibility  be  as- 
cribed to  the  outgoing  current.  In  the  contraction 
of  the  respiratory  muscles  there  are  the  necessary 


166 


[1880]  THE  feeling  of  effort 


conditions  of  centripetal  impressions,  and  these  are 
capable  of  originating  the  general  sense  of  effort. 
When  these  active  efforts  are  withheld,  no  con- 
sciousness of  effort  ever  arises,  except  in  so  far  as  it 
is  conditioned  by  the  local  contraction  of  the  group 
of  muscles  towards  which  the  attention  is  directed, 
or  by  other  muscular  contractions  called  uncon- 
sciously into  play  in  the  attempt. 

“I  am  unable  to  find  a single  case  of  consciousness 
of  effort  which  is  not  explicable  in  one  or  other  of 
the  ways  specified.  In  all  instances  the  conscious- 
ness of  effort  is  conditioned  by  the  actual  fact  of 
muscular  contraction.  That  it  is  dependent  on 
centripetal  impressions  generated  by  the  act  of  con- 
traction, I have  already  endeavored  to  show.  When 
the  paths  of  the  centripetal  impressions,  or  the  cere- 
bral centres  of  the  same,  are  destroyed,  there  is  no 
vestige  of  a muscular  sense.  That  the  central  organs 
for  the  apprehension  of  the  impressions  originating 
from  muscular  contraction,  are  different  from  those 
which  send  out  the  motor  impulse,  has  already  been 
established.  But  when  Wundt  argues  that  this  can- 
not be  so,  because  then  the  sensation  would  always 
keep  pace  with  the  energy  of  muscular  contraction, 
he  overlooks  the  important  factor  of  the  fixation  of 
the  respiratory  muscles,  which  is  the  basis  of  the 
general  sense  of  effort  in  all  its  varying  degrees.” 

To  these  remarks  of  Ferrier’s  I have  nothing  to 
add.  Any  one  may  verify  them,  and  they  prove 
conclusively  that  the  consciousness  of  muscular  ex- 
ertion, being  impossible  without  movement  effected 


167 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1880] 


somewhere , must  be  an  afferent  and  not  an  efferent 
sensation,  a consequence  and  not  an  antecedent  of 
the  movement  itself.  An  idea  of  the  amount  of  mus- 
cular exertion  requisite  to  perform  a'  certain  move- 
ment can  consequently  be  nothing  other  than  an  an- 
ticipatory image  of  the  movement’s  sensible  effects. 

Driven  thus  from  the  body  at  large,  where  shall 
the  circumstantial  evidence  for  the  feeling  of  inner- 
vation lodge  itself?  Where  but  in  the  muscles  of 
the  eye,  from  which  last  small  retreat  it  judges  itself 
inexpugnable.  And,  to  say  the  truth,  it  may  well 
be  excused  for  its  confidence;  for  Ferrier  alone,  so 
far  as  I know,  has  ventured  to  attack  it  there,  and 
his  attack  must  be  deemed  a very  weak  failure. 
Nevertheless,  that  fastness  too  must  fall,  and  by  the 
lightest  of  bombardments.  But,  before  trying  the 
bombardment,  let  us  examine  the  position  with  a 
little  care,  laying  down  first  a few  general  principles 
about  optical  vertigo,  or  illusory  appearance  of 
movement  in  objects. 

We  judge  that  an  object  moves  under  two  dis- 
tinct sets  of  circumstances : 

1.  When  its  image  moves  on  the  retina,  and  we 
know  that  the  eye  is  still. 

2.  When  its  image  is  stationary  on  the  retina, 
and  we  know  that  the  eye  is  moving.  In  this  case 
we  feel  that  we  follow  the  object. 

In  either  of  these  cases  a mistaken  judgment  about 
the  state  of  the  eye  will  produce  optical  vertigo. 

If  in  case  1,  we  think  our  eye  is  still  when  it  is 
really  moving,  we  shall  get  a movement  of  the 


168 


[1880]  the  feeling  of  effort 


retinal  image  which  we  shall  judge  to  be  due  to  a 
real  outward  motion  of  the  object.  This  is  what 
happens  after  looking  at  rushing  water,  or  through 
the  windows  of  a moving  railroad  car,  or  after  turn- 
ing on  one’s  heel  to  giddiness.  The  eyes,  without 
our  intending  to  move  them,  go  through  a series  of 
involuntary  rotations,  continuing  those  they  were 
previously  obliged  to  make  to  keep  objects  in  view. 
If  the  objects  had  been  whirling  by  to  our  right,  our 
eyes  when  turned  to  stationary  objects  will  still 
move  slowly  towards  the  right.  The  retinal  image 
upon  them  will  then  move  like  that  of  an  object  pass- 
ing to  the  left.  We  then  try  to  catch  it  by  volun- 
tarily and  rapidly  rotating  the  eyes  to  the  left,  when 
the  involuntary  impulse  again  rotates  the  eyes  to  the 
right,  continuing  the  apparent  motion,  and  so  the 
game  goes  on. 

If  in  case  2,  we  think  our  eyes  moving  when  they 
are  in  reality  still,  we  shall  judge  that  we  are 
following  a moving  object  when  we  are  but  fixat- 
ing a steadfast  one.  Illusions  of  this  kind  occur 
after  sudden  and  complete  paralysis  of  special  eye 
muscles,  and  the  partizans  of  feelings  of  efferent 
innervation  regard  them  as  experimental  crucis. 
Helmholtz  writes1 : “When  the  external  rectus 
muscle  of  the  right  eye,  or  its  nerve,  is  paralyzed, 
the  eye  can  no  longer  be  rotated  to  the  right  side. 
So  long  as  the  patient  turns  it  only  to  the  nasal  side 
it  makes  regular  movements,  and  he  perceives  cor- 
rectly the  position  of  objects  in  the  visual  field.  So 


1 Fhysiologische  Optik,  p.  600. 

169 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  [1880] 


soon,  however,  as  he  tries  to  rotate  it  outwardly, 
i.e.,  towards  the  right,  it  ceases  to  obey  his  will, 
stands  motionless  in  the  middle  of  its  course,  and 
the  objects  appear  flying  to  the  right,  although  posi- 
tion of  eye  and  retinal  image  are  unaltered.1 

“In  such  a case  the  exertion  of  the  will  is  fol- 
lowed neither  by  actual  movement  of  the  eye,  nor 
by  contraction  of  the  muscle  in  question,  nor  even 
by  increased  tension  in  it.  The  act  of  will  pro- 
duced absolutely  no  effects  beyond  the  nervous  sys- 
tem, and  yet  we  judge  of  the  direction  of  the  line  of 
vision  as  if  the  will  had  exercised  its  normal  effects. 
We  believe  it  to  have  moved  to  the  right,  and  since 
the  retinal  image  is  unchanged,  we  attribute  to  the 
object  the  same  movement  we  have  erroneously  as- 
cribed to  the  eye.  . . . These  phenomena  leave  no 
room  for  doubt  that  we  only  judge  the  direction  of 
the  line  of  sight  by  the  effort  of  will  with  which  we 
strive  to  change  the  position  of  our  eyes.  There  are 
also  certain  weak  feelings  in  our  eyelids,  . . . and 
furthermore  in  excessive  lateral  rotations  we  feel 
a fatiguing  strain  in  the  muscles.  But  all  these 
feelings  are  too  faint  and  vague  to  be  of  use  in  the 
perception  of  direction.  We  feel  then  what  impulse 
of  the  will,  and  how  strong  a one,  we  apply  to  turn 
our  eye  into  a given  position.” 

Partial  paralysis  of  the  same  muscle,  paresis , as 
it  has  been  called,  seems  to  point  even  more  con- 

1 The  left  and  sound  eye  is  here  supposed  covered.  If  both 
eyes  look  at  the  same  field  there  are  double  images  which  still 
more  perplex  the  judgment.  The  patient,  however,  learns  to 
see  correctly  before  many  days  or  weeks  are  over.  W.  J. 


170 


[1880]  the  feeling  of  effort 


clusively  to  the  same  inference,  that  the  will  to  * 
innervate  is  felt  independently  of  all  its  afferent 
results.  I will  quote  the  account  given  by  a very 
recent  authority,1  of  the  effects  of  this  accident: 

“When  the  nerve  going  to  an  eye  muscle,  e.g.,  the 
external  rectus  of  one  side,  falls  into  a state  of 
paresis,  the  first  result  is  that  the  same  volitional 
stimulus,  which  under  normal  circumstances  would 
have  perhaps  rotated  the  eye  to  its  extreme  position 
outwards,  now  is  competent  to  effect  only  a mod- 
erate outward  rotation,  say  of  20°.  If  now,  shut- 
ting the  sound  eye,  the  patient  looks  at  an  object 
situated  just  so  far  outwards  from  the  paretic  eye 
that  this  latter  must  turn  20°  in  order  to  see  it  dis- 
tinctly, the  patient  will  feel  as  if  he  had  moved  it 
not  only  20°  towards  the  side,  but  into  its  extreme 
lateral  position,  for  the  impulse  of  innervation 
requisite  for  bringing  it  into  view  is  a perfectly 
conscious  act,  wliilst  the  diminished  state  of  con- 
traction of  the  paretic  muscle  lies  for  the  present  out 
of  the  ken  of  consciousness.  The  test  proposed  by 
von  Graefe,  of  localization  by  the  sense  of  touch, 
serves  to  render  evident  the  error  which  the  patient 
now  makes.  If  we  direct  him  to  touch  rapidly  the 
object  looked  at,  with  the  forefinger  of  the  hand  of 
the  same  side,  the  line  through  which  the  finger 
moves  will  not  be  the  line  of  sight  directed  20°  out- 
ward, but  will  approach  more  nearly  to  the  extreme 
possible  outward  line  of  vision.”2 

1 Alfred  Graefe,  in  Handbucli  der  gesammten  Augenheilkunde, 
Bd.  vi,  S.  18. 

2 II id.,  p.  21. 

171 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0880] 

A stone  cutter  with  the  external  rectus  of  the  left 
eye  paralyzed,  will  strike  his  hand  instead  of  his 
chisel  with  his  hammer,  until  experience  has  taught 
him  wisdom. 

It  appears  as  if  here  the  judgment  of  direction 
could  only  arise  from  the  excessive  innervation  of 
the  rectus  when  the  object  is  looked  at.  All  the  af- 
ferent feelings  must  be  identical  with  those  experi- 
enced when  the  eye  is  sound,  and  the  judgment  is 
correct.  The  eyeball  is  rotated  just  20°  in  the  one 
case  as  in  the  other,  the  image  falls  on  the  same 
part  of  the  retina,  the  pressures  on  the  eyeball  and 
the  tensions  of  the  skin  and  conjunctiva  are  iden- 
tical. There  is  only  one  feeling  which  can  vary, 
and  lead  us  to  our  mistake.  That  feeling  must 
be  the  effort  which  the  will  makes,  moderate 
in  the  one  case,  excessive  in  the  other,  but  in  both 
cases  an  efferent  feeling,  pure  and  simple. 

Beautiful  and  clear  as  this  reasoning  seems  to  be, 
it  is  based  on  an  incomplete  inventory  of  the  afferent 
* data.  The  writers  have  all  omitted  to  consider 
what  is  going  on  in  the  other  eye.  This  is  kept 
covered  during  the  experiments  to  prevent  double 
images,  and  other  complications.  But  if  its  condi- 
tion under  these  circumstances  be  examined,  it  will 
be  found  to  present  changes  which  must  result  in 
strong  afferent  feelings.  And  the  taking  account 
of  these  feelings  demolishes  in  an  instant  all  the 
conclusions  which  the  authors  from  whom  I have 
quoted,  base  upon  their  supposed  absence.  This  I 
will  now  proceed  to  show. 


172 


[1880]  the  feeling  of  effort 


Take  first  the  case  of  complete  paralysis  and 
assume  the  right  eye  affected.  Suppose  the  patient 
desires  to  rotate  his  gaze  to  an  object  situated  in 
the  extreme  right  of  the  field  of  vision.  As  Hering 
has  so  beautifully  shown,  both  eyes  move  by  a 
common  act  of  innervation,  and  in  this  instance 
both  move  towards  the  right.  But  the  paralyzed 
right  eye  stops  short  in  the  middle  of  its  course, 
the  object  still  appearing  far  to  the  right  of  its 
fixation  point.  The  left  sound  eye,  meanwhile, 
although  covered,  continues  its  rotation  until  the 
extreme  rightward  limit  thereof  has  been  reached. 
To  an  observer  looking  at  both  eyes  the  left  will 
seem  to  squint.  Of  course  this  continued  and  ex- 
treme rotation  produces  afferent  feelings  of  right- 
ward  motion  in  the  eyeball,  which  momentarily 
overpower  the  faint  feelings  of  central  position  in 
the  diseased  and  uncovered  eye.  The  patient  feels 
by  his  left  eyeball  as  if  he  were  following  an  object 
which  by  his  right  retina  he  perceives  he  does  not 
overtake.  All  the  conditions  of  optical  vertigo 
are  here  present:  the  image  stationary  on  the  ret- 
ina, and  the  erroneous  conviction  that  the  eyes  are 
moving. 

The  objection  that  a feeling  in  the  right  eyeball 
ought  not  to  produce  a conviction  that  the  left  eye 
moves,  will  be  considered  in  a moment.  Let  us 
meanwhile  turn  to  the  case  of  simple  paresis  with 
apparent  translocation  of  the  field. 

Here  the  right  eye  succeeds  in  fixating  the  object, 
but  observation  of  the  left  eye  will  reveal  to  an 


173 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0880] 


observer  the  fact  that  it  squints  just  as  violently 
inwards  as  in  the  former  case.  The  direction  which 
the  finger  of  the  patient  takes  in  pointing  to  the 
object,  is  the  direction  of  this  squinting  and  cov- 
ered left  eye.  As  Graefe  says  (although  he  fails 
to  seize  the  true  import  of  his  own  observation), 
“It  appears  to  have  been  by  no  means  sufficiently 
noticed  how  significantly  the  direction  of  the  line 
of  sight  of  the  secondarily  deviating  eye  [ i.e of  the 
left]  and  the  line  of  direction  of  the  pointed  finger 
agree.” 

The  translocation  would,  in  a word,  be  perfectly 
explained,  could  we  suppose  that  the  sensation  of  a 
certain  degree  of  rotation  in  the  left  eyeball  were 
able  to  suggest  to  the  patient  the  position  of  an 
object  whose  image  falls  on  the  right  retina  alone. 
Can,  then,  a feeling  in  one  eye  be  confounded  with 
a feeling  in  the  other? 

Not  only  Donders  and  Adamtik,  by  their  vivi- 
sections, but  Ilering,  by  his  exquisite  optical  ex- 
periments, have  proved  that  the  apparatus  of  inner- 
vation for  both  eyes  is  single,  and  that  they  func- 
tion as  one  organ — a double  eye,  according  to  Her- 
ing,  or  what  Helmholtz  calls  a Cyclopenauge.  Now 
the  retinal  feelings  of  this  double  organ,  singly  in- 
nervated, are  also  to  a great  extent  absolutely  in- 
distinguishable, namely,  where  they  fall  in  corre- 
sponding points.  But  even  where  they  are 
numerically  distinguishable,  they  are  indistinguish- 
able with  respect  to  our  knowing  whether  they  be- 
long to  the  left  retina  or  to  the  right.  When,  as 


174 


[1880]  THE  FEELING  OF  EFFORT 


so  often  happens,  part  of  a distant  object  is  hidden 
from  one  eye  by  the  edge  of  an  intervening  body, 
and  seen  only  by  the  other  eye,  we  rarely  know  by 
onr  spontaneous  feeling  that  this  is  the  case,  nor 
when  we  have  noticed  the  fact  can  we  tell  which 
eye  is  seeing  and  which  is  eclipsed.  If  the  reader 
will  hold  two  needles  in  front  of  his  nose,  one  of 
them  behind  the  other,  and  look  at  the  distant  one 
with  both  eyes,  the  near  one  will  appear  to  him 
double.  But  he  will  be  quite  unable,  by  his  mere 
feeling,  to  say  to  which  eye  either  of  the  double  im- 
ages belong.  If  he  gives  an  opinion,  he  will  prob- 
ably say  the  right  image  belongs  to  the  right  eye, 
the  reverse  being  really  the  case.1  In  short,  we  use 
our  retinal  sensations  indifferently,  and  only  to 
tell  us  where  their  objects  lie.  It  takes  long  prac- 
tice directed  specially  ad  hoc,  to  teach  us  on  which 
retina  the  sensations  respectively  fall. 

Now  the  different  sensations  which  arise  from 
the  positions  of  the  eyeballs  are  also  used  exclu- 
sively as  signs  of  the  position  of  objects;  an  object 
directly  fixated,  being  localized  habitually  at  the 
intersection  of  the  two  optical  axes,  but  without  any 
separate  consciousness  on  our  part  that  the  position 
of  one  axis  is  different  from  another.  All  we  are 
aware  of  is  a consolidated  feeling  of  a certain 
“strain”  in  the  eyeballs,  accompanied  by  the  per- 
ception that  just  so  far  in  front  and  so  far  to  the 
right  or  to  the  left,  there  is  an  object  which  we  see. 

1 See  also  W.  B.  Rogers,  Silliman’s  Journal,  1860,  for  other 
curious  examples  of  this  incapacity. 


175 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0880] 


This  being  the  case,  our  patient  paretic  of  the  right 
external  rectus,  might  be  expected  to  see  objects, 
not  only  transposed  to  the  right,  but  also  nearer 
because  the  intersection  of  his  squinting  axes  is 
nearer,  and  smaller  because  a retinal  image  of  fixed 
size  awakens  the  judgment  of  an  object  small  in 
proportion  as  it  is  judged  near.  Whether  paretic 
patients  of  this  kind  are  subject  to  this  additional 
illusion  remains  to  be  discovered  by  examinations 
which  ophthalmologists  in  large  practice  alone  have 
the  opportunity  of  making.1  It  is  worth  while  to 

1 In  throe  recent  cases  examined  for  me  by  ophthalmological 
friends  this  additional  delusion  seemed  absent,  and  I also  found 
it  absent  in  a case  of  paralysis  of  the  external  rectus  with 
translocation  which,  by  Dr.  Wadsworth’s  kindness,  I lately  ex- 
amined at  the  hospital.  The  “absence”  spoken  of  was  in  all 
these  cases  a vacillating  and  uncertain  judgment  rather  than 
a steadfastly  positive  judgment  that  distance  and  size  were 
unaltered. 

The  extraordinary  vacillation  of  our  judgments  of  size  and 
distance  will  be  noticed  by  any  one  who  has  experimented  with 
slightly  concave,  convex,  or  prismatic  glasses.  The  most  famil- 
iar example  is  that  of  looking  at  the  moon  through  an  opera- 
glass.  It  looks  larger,  so  its  details  are  more  distinctly  seen ; 
being  so  distinct  it  looks  nearer,  and  because  it  seems  nearer 
it  is  also  judged  smaller  (Auber's  secundare  Urtheilstduschung) . 
Many  experiments  may  be  devised  by  which  the  left  eye  may  be 
made  to  converge  by  a prism  whilst  the  right  looks  either  at 
the  same  object  or  sees  one  of  the  double  images  of  a more 
distant  object  whose  other  double  image  is  cut  off  by  a screen 
from  the  left  retina.  Under  these  circumstances  we  get  trans- 
locations which  may  be  similar  to  those  in  paresis  but  they 
prove  nothing  to  our  purpose,  for  the  moment  the  prism  is  in- 
troduced before  the  left  eye,  altering  its  convergence,  the  right 
eye  moves  sympathetically,  giving  rise  to  a translation  of  its 
retinal  image,  which  of  course  suggests  translocation  of  the 
object.  The  only  experiment  capable  of  proving  the  theory 
advanced  in  the  text  would  be  one  in  which  no  shifting  of  the 


176 


[1880]  the  feeling  of  effort 


observe,  however,  that  the  feeling  of  accommodation 
and  the  knowledge  of  the  true  size  of  the  object  con- 
spire with  the  feeling  of  convergence  to  give  the 
judgment  of  distance.  And  where  the  convergence 
is  an  altogether  abnormal  one,  as  in  the  paretic 
squint,  the  feeling  of  the  left  eyeball  being  excessive, 
might  well  simply  overpower  all  other  feelings  and 
leave  no  clear  impression  whatever  save  a general 
one  of  looking  far  towards  the  right. 

The  only  thoroughly  crucial  test  of  the  explana- 
tion here  proposed  of  the  paretic  translocation, 
would  be  a case  in  which  the  left  eye  alone  looked  at 
the  object  whilst  the  right,  looking  at  nothing, 
strongly  converged.  Since,  however,  the  only  way 
of  making  a normal  eye  converge  is  to  give  it  an 
object  to  look  at,  it  would  seem  at  first  sight  as  if 
such  a case  could  never  be  obtained.  It  has  oc- 
curred to  me,  notwithstanding,  that  slight  atropini- 
zation  of  one  eye  might  cause  such  strong  accommo- 
dative innervation,  that  the  convergent  muscles 
might  sympathetically  contract,  and  a squint  tend 
to  occur.  The  squint  would  be  steadfast,  and  situ- 
ated in  the  non-atropinized  eye,  if  it  were  covered 
and  the  poisoned  eye  alone  made  to  fixate  a near 
object.  And  if  under  these  circumstances  the  ob- 
ject thus  monocularly  seen  were  translocated  out- 

image  on  the  right  retina  accompanied  the  turning  inwards  of 
the  left  eye.  The  experiment  without  prisms  mentioned  by 
Hering  (Lehre  vom  Mnocularen  Sehen,  pp.  12-14)  seems  the 
nearest  approach  which  we  can  make  to  this,  but  there  both 
eyes  fixate  the  same  objects,  and  there  is  some  translation  of 
the  image. 


177 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  t1880^ 


wardly,  we  should  have  a complete  verification  of 
the  explanation  I present.  The  innervation  is 
wholly  different  from  that  in  paresis,  and  the  only 
point  the  two  cases  have  in  common  is  the  covered 
eye  rotated  nasalwards.  Probably  it  would  not  be 
easy  to  find  the  patient,  or  the  dose  of  atropia  just 
fitted  for  producing  the  squint.  But  one  positive 
instance  would  outweigh  a hundred  negative  ones. 
I have  had  a chance  to  experiment  on  but  one  per- 
son. A large  needle  was  stuck  in  a horizontal 
board,  whose  edges  touched  the  face,  the  needle 
being  from  eight  to  twelve  inches  in  front  of  the 
right  atropinized  eye.  The  subject  was  told  to  touch 
with  her  finger  the  under  surface  of  the  board,  just 
beneath  the  needle.  The  results  were  negative, — no 
well-marked  squint  being  perceptible, — but  on  the 
third  day  after  the  atropinization,  the  patient  regu- 
larly placed  her  finger  from  one-half  to  three-quar- 
ters of  an  inch  too  far  to  the  right.  Other  observa- 
tions ought  to  be  made. 

There  seems  meanwhile  to  be  a very  good  nega- 
tive instance  by  which  to  corroborate  our  argu- 
ments. If  we  whirl  about  on  our  heel  to  the  right, 
objects  will,  as  above-mentioned,  seem  to  whirl 
about  us  to  the  left  as  soon  as  we  stand  still.  This 
is  due  to  the  fact  that  our  eyes  are  unwittingly 
making  slow  movements  to  the  right,  corrected  at 
intervals  by  quick  voluntary  ones  to  the  left.  There 
is  then  in  the  eyes  a permanent  excess  of  rightward 
innervation,  the  reflex  resultant  of  our  giddiness. 
The  intermittent  movements  to  the  left  by  which  we 


178 


[1880]  the  feeling  of  effort 


correct  this,  simply  confirm  and  intensify  the  im- 
pression it  gives  us  of  a leftward  whirling  in  the 
field  of  view : we  seem  to  ourselves  to  be  periodically 
pursuing  and  overtaking  the  objects  in  their  left- 
ward flight.  Now  if  we  convert  this  periodic  volun- 
tary action  into  permanent  action,  by  holding  the 
eyeballs  still  in  spite  of  their  reflex  tendency  to 
rotate  (i.e.,  by  using  such  an  excess  of  leftward 
voluntary  innervation  as  would  keep  us  fixating  one 
object),  we  ought,  if  truly  conscious  of  the  degree  of 
our  voluntary  innervation,  to  feel  our  eyes  actually 
moving  towards  the  left.  And  this  feeling  should 
produce  in  us  the  judgment  that  we  are  steadily 
following  with  our  gaze  a leftward  moving  field  of 
view.  As  a matter  of  fact,  however,  this  never  hap- 
pens. What  does  happen  is  that  the  field  of  view 
stops  its  motion  the  moment  our  eyes  stop  theirs.1 

1 The  subject  of  optical  vertigo  has  been  best  treated  by 
Breuer  in  Strieker’s  Medizinisclie  Jahrbucher,  Jahrg.  1874,  1 
Heft  (see  also  1875,  1 Heft).  Hoppe’s  more  recent  work  “ Die 
Scheinbewegungen,”  I have  not  seen.  I ought  to  say  that 
Mach  ( Grundlinien  der  Lehre  von  den  Bewegungsempfindun- 
gen,  1875,  pp.  83-85)  denies  that  in  his  case  fixating  a point 
causes  the  apparent  movement  of  objects  to  stop.  His  case  is 
certainly  exceptional,  but  need  not  invalidate  in  the  least  our 
theory.  The  eye-motions  in  all  cases  are  reflex  results  of  a 
sensation  of  subjective  whirling  of  the  body  due  most  prob- 
ably to  excitement  of  the  semi-circular  canals.  This  is  not 
arrested  in  any  one  by  fixing  the  eyes ; and  persisting  in  Mach 
with  a constant  field  of  view,  may  in  him  be  sufficient  to  sug- 
gest the  judgment  that  the  field  follows  him  in  his  flight, 
whilst  in  the  average  observer  the  further  addition  of  a moving 
retinal  image  may  be  requisite  for  the  full  production  of  that 
psychic  impression.  All  the  feelings  in  question  are  rather 
confused  and  fluctuating,  while  the  nausea  which  rapidly 
supervenes  stands  in  the  way  of  our  becoming  adepts  in  their 
observation. 


179 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1S8°] 


Nothing  could  more  conclusively  prove  the  inability 
of  mere  innervation  (however  complex  or  intense) 
to  influence  our  perception.  Nothing  could  more 
completely  vindicate  the  idea  that  effected,  move- 
ments, through  the  afferent  sensations  they  give  rise 
to,  are  alone  what  serve  as  premises  in  our  motor 
judgments.1 


II.  Ideo-Motor  Action 

So  far  then,  so  good.  We  have  got  rid  of  a very 
obstructive  complication  in  relegating  the  feeling  of 
muscular  exertion  properly  so  called,  to  that  vast 
and  well-known  class  of  afferent  feelings,  none  of 

1 Let  it  not  be  objected  that  the  involuntary  rightward 
motion  of  the  eyeballs  which  misled  us,  after  standing  still, 
into  the  impression  that  the  world  was  moving,  was  “effected” 
and  ought  to  have  given  us  afferent  sensations  strong  enough 
to  prevent  our  being  deluded  by  the  image  passing  over  the 
retina.  No  doubt  we  get  these  afferent  sensations  and  with 
sufficient  practice  would  rightly  interpret  them.  But  as  the 
experiment  is  actually  made,  neither  they  nor  the  moving  image 
on  the  retina  (which  far  overpowers  them  in  vivacity  of  im- 
pression) are  expected.  When  we  intend  a movement  of  the 
eyes,  the  world  being  supposed  at  rest,  we  always  expect  both 
these  sensations.  Whenever  the  latter  has  come  unexpectedly 
we  have  been  in  presence  of  a really  moving  object,  and  every 
moment  of  our  lives  moving  objects  are  giving  us  unexpectedly 
this  experience.  Of  prolonged  unexpected  movements  of  the 
eyes  we  never  under  normal  circumstances  have  any  experi- 
ence whatever.  What  wonder  then  that  the  intense  and  familiar 
sensation  of  an  unexpectedly  moving  retinal  image  should 
wholly  overpower  the  feeble  and  almost  unknown  one  of  an 
unexpected  and  prolonged  movement  of  the  eyeballs  and  he 
interpreted  as  if  it  existed  alone.  I cannot  doubt  however 
that  with  sufficient  practice  we  should  all  leam  so  to  attend 
to  and  interpret  the  feelings  of  the  moving  eyeballs  as  to  reduce 
the  retinal  experience  to  its  proper  signification. 


180 


[1880]  the  feeling  of  effort 


whose  other  members  are  held  by  any  one  to  be  es- 
pecially connected  with  the  mysterious  sentiments 
of  effort  and  power,  which  are  the  subjects  of  our 
study.  All  muscle  feelings  eliminated,  the  question 
stands  out  pure  and  simple : What  is  the  volitional 
effort  proper?  What  makes  it  easy  to  raise  the 
finger,  hard  to  get  out  of  bed  on  a cold  morning, 
harder  to  keep  our  attention  on  the  insipid  image 
of  a procession  of  sheep  when  troubled  with  insom- 
nia, and  hardest  of  all  to  say  No  to  the  temptation  of 
any  form  of  instinctive  pleasure  which  has  grown 
inveterate  and  habitual.  In  a word  what  is  the  na- 
ture of  this  fiat  of  which  we  have  so  often  spoken?1 

1 The  philosophic  importance  of  clearing  the  ground  for  the 
question  may  be  shown  by  the  example  of  Maine  de  Biran. 
This  thoroughly  original  writer’s  whole  life  was  devoted  to 
the  task  of  showing  that  the  primordial  fact  of  conscious 
personality  was  the  sentiment  of  volitional  effort.  This  intimate 
sense  is  the  self  in  each  of  us.  “It  becomes  the  self  by  the  sole 
fact  of  the  distinction  which  establishes  itself  between  the  sub- 
ject of  the  effort  and  the  term  which  resists  by  its  own  inertia. 
The  ego  cannot  begin  to  know  itself  or  to  exist  for  itself,  except 
in  so  far  as  it  can  distinguish  itself  as  subject  of  an  effort,  from 
a term  which  resists”  ( CEuvres  In4dites,  Vol.  I,  pp.  208,  212). 
Maine  de  Biran  makes  this  resisting  term  the  muscle,  though 
it  is  true  he  does  not,  like  so  many  of  his  successors,  think  we 
have  an  efferent  sense  of  its  resistance.  Its  resistance  is  known 
to  us  by  a muscular  sensation  proper,  the  effect  of  the  contrac- 
tion (p.  213).  We  shall  show  in  the  sequel  that  this  sensation 
resists  our  flat  or  volitional  effort  proper  in  no  degree  qua  mus- 
cular, but  simply  qud  disagreeable.  Any  other  disagreeable 
sensation  whatever  may  equally  well  serve  as  the  term  which 
resists  our  flat  that  it  become  real.  M.  de  B.’s  giving  such  a 
monstrous  monopoly  to  the  muscular  feelings  is  a consequence 
of  his  not  having  completed  the  discrimination  I make  in  the 
text  between  all  afferent  sensations  together  on  the  one  hand, 
and  the  fiat  on  the  other.  Muscle  feelings  for  him  still  occupy 
an  altogether  singular,  hybrid  and  abnormal  sort  of  position. 


181 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  D880] 


In  our  bed  we  think  of  the  cold,  and  we  feel  the 
warmth  and  lie  still,  but  we  all  the  time  feel  that 
we  can  get  up  with  no  trouble  if  we  will.  The  diffi- 
culty is  to  will.  We  say  to  our  intemperate  ac- 
quaintance, “You  can  be  a new  man,  if  you  will.” 
But  he  finds  the  willing  impossible.  One  who  talks 
nonsense  under  the  influence  of  hasheesh,  realizes 
all  the  time  his  power  to  end  his  sentences  soberly 
and  sensibly,  if  he  will.  But  his  will  feels  as  yet  no 
sufficient  reason  for  exerting  itself.  A person  lying 
in  one  of  those  half-trance-like  states  of  immobility 
not  infrequent  with  nervous  patients,  feels  the  power 
to  move  undiminished,  but  cannot  resolve  to  mani- 
fest it.  And  cases  might  be  multiplied  indefinitely  in 
which  the  fiat  is  not  only  a distinct,  but  a difficult 
and  effort-requiring  moment  in  the  performance. 

On  the  other  hand  cases  may  be  multiplied  in- 
definitely of  actions  performed  with  no  distinct 
volitional  fiat  at  all,— the  mere  presence  of  an  in- 
tellectual image  of  the  movement,  and  the  absence 
of  any  conflicting  image,  being  adequate  causes  of 
its  production.  As  Lotze  says1 : “The  spectator  ac- 
companies the  throwing  of  a billiard  ball,  or  the 

1 Medicinische  Psycliologie,  1852,  p.  293.  In  his  admirably 
acute  chapter  on  the  will  this  author  has  most  explicitly  main- 
tained the  position  that  what  we  call  muscular  exertion  is 
an  afferent  and  not  an  efferent  feeling:  “We  must  affirm  uni- 
versally that  in  the  muscular  feeling  we  are  not  sensible  of  the 
force  on  its  way  to  produce  an  effect,  but  only  of  the  suffercmce 
already  produced  in  our  moveable  organs,  the  muscles,  after  the 
force  has,  in  a manner  unobservable  by  us,  exerted  upon  them 
its  causality”  (p.  311).  How  often  the  battles  of  psychology 
have  to  be  fought  over  again,  each  time  with  heavier  armies 
and  bigger  trains,  though  not  always  with  so  able  generals. 

182 


[1880]  THE  feeling  of  effort 


thrust  of  the  swordsman  with  slight  movements  of 
his  arm ; the  untaught  narrator  tells  his  story  with 
many  gesticulations;  the  reader  while  absorbed  in 
the  perusal  of  a battle  scene  feels  a slight  tension 
run  through  his  muscular  system,  keeping  time  as  it 
were  with  the  actions  he  is  reading  of.  These 
results  become  the  more  marked  the  more  we  are 
absorbed  in  thinking  of  the  movements  which  sug- 
gest them;  they  grow  fainter  exactly  in  proportion 
as  a complex  consciousness,  under  the  dominion  of  a 
crowd  of  other  representations,  withstands  the  pass- 
ing over  of  mental  contemplation  into  outward 
action.  ...  We  see  in  writing  or  piano-playing  a 
great  number  of  very  complicated  movements  fol- 
lowing quickly  one  upon  the  other,  the  instigative 
representations  of  which  remained  scarcely  a second 
in  consciousness,  certainly  not  long  enough  to 
awaken  any  other  volition  than  the  general  one  of 
resigning  oneself  without  reserve  to  the  passing  over 
of  representation  into  action.  All  the  actions  of  * 
our  daily  life  happen  in  this  wise:  Our  standing 
up,  walking,  talking,  all  this  never  demands  a dis- 
tinct impulse  of  the  will,  but  is  adequately  brought 
about  by  the  pure  flux  of  thought.” 

Dr.  Carpenter  has  proposed  the  name  ideo-motor 
for  these  actions  without  a special  fiat.  And  in  the 
chapter  of  his  Mental  Physiology  bearing  this  title 
may  be  found  a very  full  collection  of  instances.1 

1 Professor  Bain  has  also  amply  illustrated  the  subject  in  his 
work  on  the  Senses  and  Intellect,  3d  edition,  pp.  33G-343.  He 
considers  that  these  facts  prove  that  the  ideas  of  motion  inhabit 
identical  nerve  tracts  with  the  actualized  motions. 


183 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  EEVIEWS  £1880] 


It  is  to  be  noted  that  among  the  most  frequent  cases 
of  this  sort  are  those  acts  which  result  from  ideas 
or  perceptions,  intercurrent  as  it  were  to  the  main 
stream  of  our  thought,  and  it  may  be  logically  dis- 
connected therewith.  I am  earnestly  talking  with  a 
friend,  when  I notice  a piece  of  string  on  the  floor. 
The  next  instant  I have  picked  it  up,  with  no  delib- 
erate resolve  to  do  so,  and  with  no  check  to  my  con- 
versation. Or,  I am  lying  in  my  warm  bed,  en- 
grossed in  some  revery  or  other,  when  the  notion 
suddenly  strikes  me  “it  is  getting  late,”  and  before 
I know  it,  I am  up  in  the  cold,  having  executed 
without  the  smallest  effort  of  resolve,  an  action 
which,  half  an  hour  previous,  with  full  conscious- 
ness of  the  pros  and  the  cons,  the  warm  rest  and  the 
chill,  the  sluggishness  and  the  manliness,  time  lost 
and  the  morning’s  duties,  I was  utterly  unable  to 
decide  upon. 

I then  lay  it  down  as  a second  corner-stake  in  our 
inquiry,  that  every  representation  of  a motion 
awakens  the  actual  motion  which  is  its  object, 
unless  inhibited  by  some  antagonistic  representation 
simultaneously  present  to  the  mind. 

It  is  somewhat  dangerous  to  base  dogmatic  con- 
clusions on  the  experiments  so  far  made  on  the 
cerebral  cortex,  nevertheless  they  may  help  to  con- 
firm conclusions  already  probable  on  other  grounds. 
Munk’s  vivisectional  experiments  on  the  cortical 
centres  seem  much  the  most  minute  and  elaborate 
which  have  yet  been  reported.  Now  Munk  con- 
cludes from  them  that  the  so-called  motor  centres 


184 


[i860]  THE  feeling  of  effort 


of  Hitzig  and  Ferrier,  each  of  which,  when  elec- 
trically irritated,  provokes  a characteristic  move- 
ment in  some  part  of  the  body,  are  sensory  centres, 
— the  centres  for  the  feelings  of  touch,  pressure,  po- 
sition, and  motion  of  the  bodily  parts  in  question. 
The  entire  zone  which  contains  them  is  called  by  him 
the  Fiihlsphdre  of  the  cerebral  surface,  and  is  made 
co-ordinate  with  the  Sehsplidre  and  Hdrsphdre.x 

Electric  excitement  of  the  forepaw  centre  can 
then  only  give  us  an  image  of  the  paw  in  some  result- 
ant state  of  flexion  or  extension.  And  the  reason 
why  motor  effects  occur  like  clock-work  when  this 
centre  is  irritated,  would  be  that  this  image  is 
awakened  with  such  extraordinary  vivacity  by  the 
stimulus  that  no  other  idea  in  the  animal’s  mind  can 
be  strong  enough  to  inhibit  its  discharging  into  the 
insentient  motor  centres  below. 

Now  the  reader  may  still  shake  his  head  and  say : 
“But  can  you  seriously  mean  that  all  the  wonder- 
fully exact  adjustment  of  my  action’s  strength  to  its 
ends,  is  not  a matter  of  outgoing  innervation?  Here 
is  a cannon-ball,  and  here  a pasteboard  box:  in- 
stantly and  accurately  I lift  each  from  the  table,  the 

1Munk  (Du  Bois-Reymond’s  Arcliiv  fiir  Physiologie,  1878, 
pp.  177-178  and  549).  It  is  true  that  Munk  still  believes  in 
the  Innervationsgefiihl,  only  he  supposes  it  to  be  a result  of  the 
activity  of  the  lower  motor  centres,  not  coming  to  conscious- 
ness in  situ,  but  transmitted  upwards  by  fibres  to  the  zone  in 
question,  and  there  perceived  along  with  the  passive  feelings  of 
the  part  involved.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  there  is  not  an 
atom  of  objective  ground  for  the  belief  in  these  afferent  inner- 
vation feelings — even  less  than  for  the  efferent  ones  ordinarily 
assumed. 


185 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  i1880l 


ball  not  refusing  to  rise  because  my  innervation  was 
too  weak,  the  box  not  flying  abruptly  into  the  air  be- 
cause it  was  too  strong.  Could  representations  of 
the  movement’s  different  sensory  effects  in  the  two 
cases  be  so  delicately  foreshadowed  in  the  mind?  or 
being  there,  is  it  credible  that  they  should,  all  un- 
aided, so  delicately  graduate  the  stimulation  of  the 
unconscious  motor  centres  to  their  work?”  Even 
so!  I reply  to  both  queries.  We  have  a most  ex- 
tremely delicate  foreshadowing  of  the  sensory  ef- 
fects. Why  else  the  start  of  surprise  that  runs 
through  us,  if  some  one  has  filled  the  light-seeming 
box  with  sand  before  we  try  to  lift  it,  or  has  substi- 
tuted for  the  cannon-ball  which  we  know,  a painted 
wooden  imitation?  Surprise  can  only  come  from 
getting  a sensation  which  differs  from  the  one  we 
expect.  But  the  truth  is  that  when  we  know  the 
objects  well,  the  very  slightest  difference  from  the 
expected  weight  will  surprise  us,  or  at  least  attract 
our  notice.  With  unknown  objects  we  begin  by  ex- 
pecting the  weight  made  probable  by  their  appear- 
ance. The  expectation  of  this  sensation  innervates 
our  lift,  and  we  “set”  it  rather  small  at  first.  An 
instant  verifies  whether  it  is  too  small.  Our  expec- 
tation rises,  i.e.,  we  think  in  a twinkling  of  a setting 
of  the  chest  and  teeth,  a bracing  of  the  back,  and  a 
more  violent  feeling  in  the  arms.  Quicker  than 
thought  we  have  them,  and  with  them  the  burden 
ascends  into  the  air.  Bernhardt1  has  shown  in  a 

1 Arcliiv  fur  Psychiatric,  III,  pp.  618-635.  Bernhardt  strangely 
enough  seems  to  think  that  what  his  experiments  disprove  is 


186 


[18S0]  the  feeling  of  effort 


rough  experimental  way  that  our  estimation  of  the 
amount  of  a resistance  is  as  delicately  graduated 
when  our  wills  are  passive,  and  our  limbs  made  to 
contract  by  direct  local  faradization,  as  when  we 
ourselves  innervate  them.  Ferrier1  has  repeated 
and  verified  the  observations.  They  admit  of  no 
great  precision,  and  too  much  stress  should  not  be 
laid  upon  them  either  way,  but  at  the  very  least, 
they  tend  to  show  that  no  added  delicacy  would 
accrue  to  our  perception  from  the  consciousness  of 
the  efferent  process,  even  if  it  existed. 


III.  The  Inscrutable  Psycho-physic  Nexus  is 

IDENTICAL  IN  ALL  INNERVATION  AND  LIES  OUTSIDE 

the  Sphere  of  the  Will 

On  the  ordinary  theory,  the  movements  which  ac- 
company emotion,  and  those  which  we  call  volun- 
tary, are  of  a fundamentally  different  character. 
The  emotional  movements  are  admitted  to  be  dis- 
charged without  intermediary  by  the  mere  presence 
of  the  exciting  idea.  The  voluntary  motions  are 
said  to  follow  the  idea  only  after  an  intermediate 

the  existence  of  afferent  muscular  feelings,  not  those  of  efferent 
innervation — apparently  because  he  deems  that  the  peculiar 
thrill  of  the  electricity  ought  to  overpower  all  other  afferent 
feelings  from  the  part.  But  it  is  far  more  natural  to  interpret 
his  results  the  other  way,  even  aside  from  the  certainty  yielded 
by  other  evidence  that  passive  muscular  feelings  exist.  This 
other  evidence  is  compendiously  summed  up  by  Sachs  in 
Reichert  und  Du  Bois’  Archiv,  1874,  pp.  174r-188. 

1 Functions  of  the  Brain,  p.  228. 


187 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1880] 


conscious  process  of  “innervation”  has  been  aroused. 
On  the  present  theory  the  only  difference  lies  in  the 
fact  that  the  emotions  show  a peculiar  congenital 
connection  of  certain  forms  of  idea  with  certain 
very  specially  combined  movements,  largely  of  the 
“involuntary”  muscles,  but  also  of  the  others — as 
in  fear,  anger,  etc. — such  connection  being  non- 
congenital  in  voluntary  action;  and  in  the  further 
fact  that  the  discharge  of  idea  into  movement  is 
much  more  readily  inhibited  by  other  casually  pres- 
ent ideas  in  the  case  of  voluntary  action,  and  less 
so  in  the  case  of  emotions ; though  here,  too,  inhibi- 
tion takes  place  on  a large  scale.1 

That  one  set  of  ideas  should  compel  the  vascular, 
respiratory,  and  gesticulatory  symptoms  of  shame, 
another  those  of  anger,  a third  those  of  grief,  a 
fourth  those  of  laughter,  and  a fifth  those  of  sexual 
excitement,  is  a most  singular  fact  of  our  organiza- 
tion, which  the  labors  of  a Darwin  have  hardly  even 
begun  to  throw  light  upon.  Where  such  a prear- 
rangement of  the  nerve  centres  exists,  the  way  to 
awaken  the  motor  symptoms  is  to  awaken  first  the 
idea  and  then  to  dwell  upon  it.  The  thought  of  our 
enemy  soon  brings  with  it  the  bodily  ebullition, 
of  our  loss  the  tears,  of  our  blunder  the  blush.  We 
even  read  of  persons  who  can  contract  their  pupils 
voluntarily  by  steadily  imagining  a brilliant  light — 
that  being  the  sensation  to  which  the  pupils  nor- 
mally respond. 

'Witness  the  evaporation  of  manifestations  of  disgust  in  the 
presence  of  fear,  of  lust  in  the  presence  of  respect,  etc.,  etc. 


188 


[1880]  the  feeling  of  effort 


“It  is  possible  to  weep  at  will  by  trying  to  recall 
that  peculiar  feeling  in  the  trigeminal  nerve  which 
habitually  precedes  tears.  Some  can  even  succeed 
in  sweating  voluntarily,  by  the  lively  recollection  of 
the  characteristic  skin  sensations,  and  the  volun- 
tary reproduction  of  an  indescribable  sort  of  feeling 
of  relaxation,  which  ordinarily  precedes  the  flow 
of  perspiration.  Finally,  it  is  well  known  how 
easily  the  thought  of  gustatory  stimuli  excites  the 
activity  of  the  salivary  glands.  This  capacity  to 
indirectly  excite  activities  usually  involuntary,  is 
much  more  pronounced  in  certain  diseases.  Hy- 
pochondriacs know  well  how  easily  the  heart-beat 
may  be  made  to  alter,  or  even  cramps  of  single 
muscles,  feelings  of  aura , and  so  forth,  be  brought 
about  in  this  way,  which  no  doubt  in  the  religious 
epidemics  of  the  Middle  Ages,  led  to  the  imitative 
spread  of  ecstatic  convulsions,  from  one  person  to 
another.”1  It  suffices  to  think  steadily  of  the  feel- 
ing of  yawning,  to  provoke  the  act  in  most  persons ; 
and  in  every  one  in  certain  states,  to  imagine  vomit- 
ing is  to  vomit. 

The  great  play  of  individual  idiosyncrasy  in  all 
these  matters,  shows  that  the  following  or  not  fol- 
lowing of  action  upon  representation  is  a matter 
of  connections  among  nervous  centres,  which  con- 
nections may  fluctuate  widely  in  extent.  The  ordi- 
nary “voluntary”  act  results  in  this  way:  First, 
some  feeling  produces  a movement  in  a reflex,  or  as 
we  say,  accidental  way.  The  movement  excites  a 
1 Lotze,  Medicinische  Psychologie,  p.  303. 

189 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £188°J 


sensorial  tract,  causing  a feeling  which,  whenever 
the  sensorial  tract  functions  again,  revives  as  an 
idea.  Now  the  sensorial  and  motor  tracts,  thus 
associated  in  their  actions,  remain  associated  for- 
ever afterwards,  and  as  the  motor  originally 
aroused  the  sensory,  so  the  sensory  may  now  arouse 
the  motor  (provided  no  outlying  ideational  tracts 
in  connection  with  it  prevent  it  from  so  doing). 
Voluntary  acts  are  in  fact  nothing  but  acts  whose 
motor  centres  are  so  constituted  that  they  can  be 
aroused  by  these  sensorial  centres,  whose  excite- 
ment was  originally  their  effect.  Acts,  the  inner- 
vation of  which  cannot  thus  run  up  its  primal 
stream,  are  not  voluntary.  But  the  line  of  division 
runs  differently  in  different  individuals. 

Now  notice  that  in  all  this,  whether  the  act  do 
follow  or  not  upon  the  representation  is  a matter 
quite  immaterial  so  far  as  the  willing  of  the  act 
represented  goes.  I will  to  write,  and  the  act  fol- 
lows. I will  to  sneeze,  and  it  does  not.  I will  that 
the  distant  table  slide  over  the  floor  towards  me; 
it  also  does  not.  My  willing  representation  can  no 
more  instigate  my  sneezing  centre,  than  it  can  insti- 
gate the  table,  to  activity.  But  in  both  cases,  it  is  as 
true  and  good  willing  as  it  was  when  I willed  to 
write.  In  a word,  volition  is  a psychic  or  moral 
fact  pure  and  simple,  and  is  absolutely  completed 
when  the  intention  or  consent  is  there.  The  super- 
vention of  motion  upon  its  completion  is  a super- 
numerary phenomenon  belonging  to  the  department 
of  physiology  exclusively,  and  depending  on  the  or- 


190 


[1880]  the  feeling  of  effort 


game  structure  and  condition  of  executive  ganglia, 
whose  functioning  is  quite  unconscious. 

In  St.  Vitus’  dance,  in  locomotor  ataxy,  the  repre- 
sentation of  a movement  and  the  consent  to  it  take 
place  normally.  But  the  inferior  executive  cen- 
tres are  deranged,  and  although  the  ideas  discharge 
them,  they  do  not  discharge  them  so  as  to  reproduce 
the  precise  sensations  which  they  prefigure.  In 
aphasia  the  patient  has  an  image  of  certain  words 
which  he  wishes  to  utter,  but  when  he  opens  his 
mouth,  he  hears  himself  making  quite  unintended 
sounds.  This  may  fill  him  with  rage  and  despair — 
which  passions  only  show  how  intact  his  will  re- 
mains.1 

Paralysis  only  goes  a step  farther.  The  associa- 
tive mechanism  is  not  only  deranged  but  altogether 
broken  through.  The  volition  occurs,  but  the  hand 
remains  as  still  as  the  table.  The  paralytic  is  made 
aware  of  this  by  the  absence  of  the  expected  change 
in  his  afferent  sensations.  He  tries  harder,  i.e.}  he 

1 In  ataxy  it  is  true  that  the  sensations  resultant  from  move- 
ment are  usually  disguised  by  anaesthesia.  This  has  led  to 
false  explanations  of  the  symptom  (Leyden,  Die  graue  Degen- 
eration des  Riickemnarks,  1863).  But  the  undeniable  existence 
of  atactics  without  a trace  of  insensibility  proves  the  trouble 
to  be  due  to  disorder  of  the  associating  machinery  between  the 
centres  of  ideation  and  those  of  discharge.  These  latter  cases 
have  been  used  by  some  authors  in  support  of  the  Innerva- 
tiongefiihl  theory  (Classen:  Das  Sclilussverfahren  des  Sehactes, 
1863,  p.  50)  ; the  spasmodic  irregular  movements  being 
interpreted  as  the  result  of  an  imperfect  sense  of  the  amount 
of  innervation  we  are  exerting.  There  is  no  subjective  evidence 
whatever  of  such  a state.  The  undoubtedly  true  theory  is 
best  expounded  by  Jaccoud:  Des  Parapldgies  et  de  VAtaxie 
Motrice,  1864,  Part  iii.,  Chap.  ii. 


191 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0880] 


mentally  frames  the  sensation  of  muscular  “effort” 
with  consent  that  it  shall  occur.  It  does  so : he 
frowns,  he  heaves  his  chest,  he  clenches  his  other 
fist,  but  the  palsied  arm  lies  passive.1  It  may  then 
be  that  the  thought  of  his  impotence  shall  make 
his  will,  like  a Rarey-tamed  horse,  forever  after- 
wards cowed,  inhibited,  impossible,  with  respect  to 
that  particular  motion.2 

The  special  case  of  the  limb  being  completely  an- 
aesthetic, as  well  as  atactic,  curiously  illustrates 
the  merely  external  and  quasi-accidental  connection 
between  muscular  motion  and  the  thought  which  in- 
stigates it.  We  read  of  cases  like  this: 

“Voluntary  movements  cannot  be  estimated  the 
moment  the  patient  ceases  to  take  note  of  them 
by  his  eyes.  Thus  after  having  made  him  close  his 
eyes,  if  one  asks  him  to  move  one  of  his  limbs  either 
wholly  or  in  part,  he  does  it  but  cannot  tell  whether 
the  effected  movement  is  large  or  small,  strong  or 
weak,  or  even  if  it  has  taken  place  at  all.  And 
when  he  opens  his  eyes  after  moving  his  leg  from 
right  to  left,  for  example,  he  declares  that  he  had 
a very  inexact  notion  of  the  extent  of  the  effected 
movement.  ...  If,  having  the  intention  of  execut- 
ing a certain  movement,  I prevent  him , he  does  not 

1 A normal  palsy  occurs  during  sleep.  We  will  all  sorts  of 
motions  in  our  dreams,  but  seldom  perform  any  of  them.  In 
nightmare  we  become  conscious  of  the  non-performance,  and 
will  the  “effort.”  This  seems  then  to  occur  in  a restricted  way, 
limiting  itself  to  the  occlusion  of  the  glottis  and  producing  the 
respiratory  anxiety  which  wakes  us  up. 

2 Vide  supra,  p.  8,  note  3. 

192 


[1880]  the  feeling  of  effort 


perceive  it,  and  supposes  the  limb  to  have  taken  the 
position  he  intended  to  give  it.”1  Or  this : 

“The  patient  when  his  eyes  were  closed  in  the 
middle  of  an  unpractised  movement,  remained  with 
the  extremity  in  the  position  it  had  when  the  eyes 
closed  and  did  not  complete  the  movement  properly. 
Then  after  some  oscillations  the  limb  gradually 
sank  by  reason  of  its  weight  (the  sense  of  fatigue 
being  absent).  Of  this  the  patient  was  not  aware, 
and  wondered  when  he  opened  his  eyes,  at  the 
altered  position  of  his  limb.”2 

In  the  normal  state  of  man  there  is  always  a 
possibility  that  action  may  not  occur  in  this  simple 
ideo-motor  way.  The  motor  ideas  may  awaken 
other  ideas  which  inhibit  the  discharge  into  the 
executive  ganglia.  But  in  the  state  called  hypno- 
tism we  have  a condition  analogous  to  sleep  in  so 
far  forth  that  the  ideas  which  turn  up  do  not 
awaken  their  habitual  and  most  reasonable  asso- 
ciates. Their  motor  effects  are  therefore  not  in- 
hibited, and  the  hypnotized  subject  not  only  believes 
everything  that  is  told  him,  however  improbable, 
but  he  acts  out  every  motor  suggestion  which  he 
receives.  The  eminent  French  philosopher,  Renou- 
vier,  as  early  as  1859,  expressly  assimilated  these 
facts  of  hypnotism  to  the  ordinary  ideo-motor  ac- 
tions, and  to  those  effects  of  moral  vertigo  and  fasci- 

1 Landry : “Memoire  sur  la  Paralysie  du  Sens  Musculaire,” 
in  Gazette  des  Eopitaux,  1855,  p.  270. 

2T&kacs,  “Ueber  die  Verspatung  der  Empfindungsleitung,” 
Archiv  fiir  Psychiatrie,  Bd.  x,  Heft  ii,  p.  533. 


193 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0880] 


nation  which  make  us  fall  when  we  are  on  heights, 
laugh  from  the  fear  of  laughing,  etc.,  etc.  His  ac- 
count of  the  psychology  of  volition1  is  the  firmest, 
and  in  my  opinion,  the  truest  connected  treatment 
yet  given  to  the  subject  by  any  author  with  whom  I 
am  acquainted. 


IV.  The  Will  connects  Terms  in  the  Mental 
Sphere  only 

We  must  now  leave  behind  us  the  cases  of  ex- 
tremely uncomplicated  mental  motivation,  which 
we  have  hitherto  considered,  and  take  up  others 
where  the  tendency  of  a particular  motor  idea  to 
take  effect  is  arrested  or  delayed.  These  are  the 
cases  where  the  fiat,  the  distinct  decision,  or  the 
volitional  effort,  come  in;  and  we  find  them  of 
many  degrees  of  complexity. 

First  there  are  cases  with  no  effort  properly  so 
called,  either  of  muscle  or  resolution:  shall  I put 
on  this  hat  or  that?  Shall  I draw  a horse  or  a man 
on  the  sheet  of  paper  which  this  amusement-craving 
child  brings  me?  Shall  I move  my  index  finger  or 
my  little  finger  to  show  my  “ liberum  arbitrium  in- 

1Essais  de  Critique  G6n6rale;  2me  Essai,  Psychotogie  ration- 
nelle,  pp.  237  and  following.  2me  Edition,  1875,  Tome  1,  pp. 
367-408.  Heidenliain,  in  an  interesting  pamphlet  ( Der  sogen- 
nante  thierische  Magnetismus,  Leipzig,  1880),  has  recently  pro- 
pounded the  opinion  that  in  hypnotized  subjects  the  hemi- 
spheres are  thrown  entirely  out  of  gear  and  no  ideas  whatever 
awakened.  This  opinion  is  so  much  at  variance  with  that  of 
English  and  French  observers  that  further  corroboration  is  re- 
quired. 


194 


[1880]  the  FEELING  of  effort 


differentice?”  In  the  mountains,  in  youth,  on  some 
intoxicating  autumn  morning,  after  invigorating 
slumber,  we  feel  strong  enough  to  jump  over  the 
moon,  and,  casting  about  us  for  a barrier,  a rock,  a 
tree,  or  any  object  on  which  to  measure  our  bodily 
prowess,  we  perform  with  perfect  spontaneity  feats 
which  at  another  time  might  demand  an  almost  im- 
possible exertion  of  muscle  and  of  will. 

Both  of  these  exertions  are  present  in  a vast  class 
of  actions.  Exhausted  with  fatigue  and  wet  and 
watching,  the  sailor  on  a wreck  throws  himself 
down  to  rest.  But  hardly  are  his  limbs  fairly  re- 
laxed, when  the  order  “to  the  pumps !”  again  sounds 
in  his  ears.  Shall  he,  can  he,  obey  it?  Is  it  not 
better  just  to  let  his  aching  body  lie,  and  let  the  ship 
go  down  if  she  will?  So  he  lies  on,  till,  with  a des- 
perate heave  of  the  will,  at  last  he  staggers  to  his 
legs,  and  to  his  task  again. 

Again,  there  are  instances  where  the  volitional 
fiat  demands  great  effort  though  the  muscular  ex- 
ertion be  insignificant,  e.g.,  the  getting  out  of  bed 
and  bathing  oneself  on  a cold  morning. 

Finally,  we  may  have  the  fiat  in  all  its  rigor,  with 
no  motor  representation  whatever  involved,  or  one 
so  remote  as  not  to  count  directly  at  all  in  the  men- 
tal motivation. 

Of  the  former  class  are  all  resolutions  to  be 
patient  rather  than  to  act.  Such  a one  we  have  to 
make  in  the  dentist’s  chair:  The  alternatives  are 
a state  of  inward  writhing,  and  mental  swearing, 
coupled  with  spasmodic  respiration,  and  all  sorts  of 


195 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  t188°l 

F 

» 

irregularly  antagonistic  muscular  attractions — 
a state  of  shrinking  and  protest  in  a word,  on  the 
one  hand ; and  on  the  other  a state  of  muscular  re- 
laxation and  free  breathing,  a sort  of  mental  wel- 
coming of  the  pain,  and  the  elated  consciousness 
that  be  it  never  so  savage,  we  can  stand  it.  This  is 
a state  of  consent , and  the  passage  from  the  former 
state  to  it,  not  the  passage  the  other  way,  is  in  this 
instance  the  one  requiring  the  fiat,  and  character- 
ized by  the  mental  “click”  of  resolve. 

As  examples  of  the  last  class,  take  Regulus  return- 
ing to  Carthage,  the  priest  who  decides  to  break 
with  his  church,  the  girl  who  makes  up  her  mind  to 
live  single  with  her  ideal,  rather  than  accept  the 
good  old  bachelor  who  is  her  only  suitor,  the  em- 
bezzler who  fixes  a certain  day  on  which  to  make 
public  confession,  the  deliberate  suicide,  yea  the 
wretch  who  after  long  hesitation  resolves  that  he 
will  put  arsenic  into  his  wife’s  cup.  These  pass 
through  one  moment  which  like  a knife-edge  parts 
all  their  past  from  all  their  future,  but  which  leads 
to  no  immediate  muscular  consequences  at  all. 

Now  if  we  analyze  this  great  variety  of  cases,  we 
shall  find  that  the  knife-edge  moment  where  it  ex- 
ists, has  the  same  identical  constitution  in  all.  It 
is  literally  a fiat,  a state  of  mind  which  consents, 
agrees,  or  is  willing,  that  certain  represented  ex- 
periences shall  continue  to  be,  or  should  now  for 
the  first  time  become,  part  of  Reality.  The  consent 
comes  after  hesitation.  The  hesitation  came  because 
something  made  us  imagine  another  alternative. 

196 


[1880]  the  feeling  of  effort 


When  both  alternatives  are  agreeable,  as  in  the  in- 
toxication of  the  mountain  morning,  or  the  liberum 
arbitrium  indiffer  entice,  the  hesitation  is  but  mo- 
mentary; for  either  course  is  better  than  delay, 
and  the  one  which  lies  nearest  when  the  sense  that 
we  are  uselessly  delaying  becomes  pungent,  is  the 
one  which  discharges  into  act — thus  no  mental  ten- 
sion has  time  to  arise. 

But  in  other  cases  both  alternatives  are  images 
of  mixed  good  and  evil.  Whatever  is  done  has  to 
be  done  against  some  inhibitory  agency,  whether  of 
intrinsic  unpleasantness  in  the  doing,  or  of  rep- 
resented odiousness  of  the  doing’s  fruits : the 
fiat  has  to  occur  against  resistance.  Volition 
then  comes  hand  in  hand  with  the  sentiment  of 
effort,  and  the  proper  problem  of  this  essay  lies 
before  us. 

What  does  the  effort  seem  to  do?  To  bring  the 
decisive  volition.  What  is  this  volition?  The 
stable  victory  of  an  idea,  although  it  may  be  dis- 
agreeable, the  permanent  suppression  of  an  idea 
although  it  may  be  immediately  and  urgently 
pleasant. 

What  do  we  mean  by  “victory”  ? The  survival  in 
the  mind  in  such  form  as  to  constitute  unwavering 
contemplation,  expectation,  assent,  or  affirmation. 
What  do  we  mean  by  “suppression”?  Either  com- 
plete oblivescence,  or  such  presence  as  to  evoke  the 
steady  sentiment  of  aversion  or  negation. 

Volition  with  effort  is  then  incidental  to  the  4 
conflict  of  ideas  of  what  our  experience  may  be. 

197 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0880] 


Conflict  involves  those  strange  states  or  general  at- 
titudes of  feeling,  which  when  we  speak  logically 
or  intellectually,  we  call  affirmation  and  negation, 
but  when  we  speak  emotionally,  we  call  assent  and 
refusal.  Psychologically  of  course,  like  every  other 
mental  modification,  these  attitudes  are  feelings 
sui  generis , not  to  be  described,  but  only  labelled 
and  pointed  out.  What  they  are  in  se,  what  their 
conflict  is,  and  what  its  decision  and  resolution  are, 
we  know  in  every  given  case  introspectively  with 
an  absolute  clearness  that  nothing  can  make  clearer. 
But  what  forms  of  cerebral  nerve-process  corre- 
spond to  these  mind-processes  is  an  infinitely  darker 
matter,  and  one  as  to  which  I will  here  make  no 
suggestion  except  the  simple  and  obvious  one  that 
they  and  volition  with  them  are  subserved  by  the 
ideational  centres  exclusively  and  involve  no  down- 
ward irradiation  into  lower  parts.  The  irradiation 
only  comes  when  they  are  completed. 

In  the  dentist’s  chair,  one  idea  is  that  of  the  man- 
liness of  enduring  the  pain,  the  other  is  that  of  its 
intolerable  character.  We  assent  to  the  manliness, 
saying,  “let  it  be  the  reality,”  and  behold,  it  becomes 
so,  though  with  a mental  effort  exactly  proportion- 
ate to  the  sensitiveness  of  our  nerves.  To  the  sailor 
on  the  wreck,  one  idea  is  that  of  his  sore  hands,  and 
the  nameless  aching  exhaustion  of  his  whole  frame 
which  further  pumping  involves.  The  other,  is  that 
of  a hungry  sea  ingulfing  him.  He  says:  “rather 
the  former !”  and  it  becomes  reality,  in  spite  of  the 
inhibiting  influence  of  the  comparatively  luxurious 


198 


[1880]  the  feeling  of  effort 


sensations  of  the  spot  in  which  he  for  the  moment 
lies. 

To  the  sinner  in  the  agony  of  his  mind,  one  idea 
is  of  the  social  shame  and  all  the  outward  losses 
and  degradations  to  which  confession  will  expose 
him,  the  other  is  that  of  the  rescue  from  the  damned 
unending  inward  foulness  to  which  concealment 
seems  to  doom  him.  He  says  to  the  confession, 
“fiat!  with  all  its  consequences,”  and  sure  enough, 
when  the  time  comes,  fit,  hut  not  without  mental 
blood  and  sweat. 

Everywhere  the  difficulty  is  the  same : to  keep 
affirming  and  adopting  a state  of  mind  of  which  dis- 
agreeableness  is  an  integral  factor.  The  disagree- 
ableness need  not  "be  of  the  nature  of  pain ; it  may 
be  the  merely  relative  disagreeableness  of  insipidity. 
When  the  spontaneous  course  of  thought  is  to  excit- 
ing images,  whether  sanguine  or  lugubrious,  loving 
or  revengeful,  all  reasonable  representations  come 
with  a deadly  flatness  and  coldness  that  strikes  a 
chill  to  the  soul.  To  cling  to  them  however,  as  soon 
as  they  show  their  faces,  to  consent  to  their  pres- 
ence, to  affirm  them,  to  negate  all  the  rest,  is  the 
characteristic  energy  of  the  man  whose  will  is 
strong.  If  on  this  purely  mental  plane  his  effort 
succeeds,  the  outward  consequences  will  take  care 
of  themselves,  for  the  representation  will  work  un- 
aided its  motor  effects.  The  simplest  cases  are  the 
best  for  illustrating  the  point,  and  in  the  case  of  a 
man  afflicted  with  insomnia,  and  to  whose  body 
sleep  comes  through  the  persistent  successful  diver- 


199 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  [188°J 


sion  of  the  mind  from  the  train  of  whirling 
thoughts,  to  the  monotonous  contemplation  of  one 
letter  after  another  of  a verse  of  poetry,  spelled  out 
synchronously  with  the  acts  of  respiration,  we  have 
all  the  elements  that  can  anywhere  he  found:  a 
struggle  of  ideas,  a victory  of  one  set  and  certain 
bodily  effects  automatically  consequent  thereon. 
To  sustain  a representation , to  think , is  what  re- 
quires the  effort,  and  is  the  true  moral  act.  Maniacs 
know  their  thoughts  to  be  insane,  but  they  are  too 
pressing  to  be  withstood.  Again  and  again  sober 
notions  come,  but  like  the  sober  instants  of  a 
drunken  man,  they  are  so  sickeningly  cadaverous, 
or  else  so  still  and  small  and  imperceptible,  that  the 
lunatic  can’t  bear  to  look  them  fully  in  the  face  and 
say : “let  these  alone  represent  my  realities.”  Such 
an  extract  as  this  will  illustrate  what  I mean  : 

“ A gentleman  of  respectable  birth,  excellent  edu- 
cation, and  ample  fortune,  engaged  in  one  of  the 
highest  departments  of  trade  . . . and  being  in- 
duced to  embark  in  one  of  the  plausible  speculations 
of  the  day  . . . was  utterly  ruined.  Like  other  men 
he  could  bear  a sudden  overwhelming  reverse  better 
than  a long  succession  of  petty  misfortunes,  and 
the  way  in  which  he  conducted  himself  on  the  occa- 
sion met  with  unbounded  admiration  from  his 
friends.  He  withdrew,  however,  into  rigid  seclu- 
sion, and  being  no  longer  able  to  exercise  the  gener- 
osity and  indulge  the  benevolent  feelings  which 
had  formed  the  happiness  of  his  life,  made  himself 
a substitute  for  them  by  daydreams,  gradually  fell 


200 


[1880]  the  feeling  of  effort 


into  a state  of  irritable  despondency,  from  which 
he  only  gradually  recovered  with  the  loss  of  reason. 
He  now  fancied  himself  possessed  of  immense 
wealth,  and  gave  without  stint  his  imaginary  riches. 
He  has  ever  since  been  under  gentle  restraint,  and 
leads  a life  not  merely  of  happiness,  but  of  bliss; 
converses  rationally,  reads  the  newspapers,  where 
every  tale  of  distress  attracts  his  notice,  and  being 
furnished  with  an  abundant  supply  of  blank  checks, 
he  fills  up  one  of  them  with  a munificent  sum,  sends 
it  off  to  the  sufferer,  and  sits  down  to  his  dinner  with 
a happy  conviction  that  he  has  earned  the  right  to 
a little  indulgence  in  the  pleasures  of  the  table ; and 
yet,  on  a serious  conversation  with  one  of  his  old 
friends,  he  is  quite  conscious  of  his  real  position, 
but  the  conviction  is  so  exquisitely  painful  that  he 
will  not  let  himself  believe  it.”1 

Now  to  turn  to  the  special  case  of  the  decision 
to  make  a muscular  movement.  This  decision  may 
require  a volitional  effort,  or  it  may  not.  If  I am 
well,  and  the  movement  is  a light  one  (like  the 
brushing  of  dust  from  my  coat-sleeve),  and  suggests 
no  consequences  of  an  unpleasant  nature,  it  is  effort- 
less. But  if  unpleasant  consequences  are  expected, 
that  effective  sustaining  of  the  idea  which  results 
in  bringing  the  motion  about,  and  which  is  equiva- 
lent to  mental  consent  that  those  consequences  be- 
come real,  involves  considerable  effort  of  volition. 
Now  the  unpleasant  consequences  may  be  immediate 
— my  body  may  be  weary,  or  the  movement  violent, 

1 The  Duality  of  the  Mind,  by  A.  L.  Wigan,  M.D.,  p.  128. 

201 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0880] 


and  involve  a great  amount  of  that  general  and 
special  afferent  feeling  which  we  learned  above  to 
constitute  muscular  exertion.  Under  these  circum- 
stances the  idea  of  the  movement  is  the  imagination 
of  these  massively  unpleasant  feelings,  and  nothing 
else.  The  willing  of  the  movement  is  the  consent  to 
these  imagined  feelings  becoming  real, — the  saying 
of  them,  “fiant”  The  effort  which  the  willing  re- 
quires is  the  purely  mental  transition  from  the  mere 
conception  of  the  feelings  to  their  expectation , 
steadfastly  maintaining  itself  before  the  mind,  dis- 
agreeable though  it  be.  The  motor  idea,  assuming 
at  last  this  victorious  status,  not  only  uninhibited  by 
remote  associations,  but  inhibited  no  longer  even  by 
its  own  unpleasantness,  discharges  by  the  preap- 
pointed mechanism  into  the  right  muscles.  Then 
the  motor  sensations  accrue  in  all  their  expected 
severity,  and  the  muscular  effort  as  distinguished 
from  the  volitional  effort  has  its  birth. 

It  is  needless  after  this  to  say  what  absolutely 
different  phenomena  these  two  efforts  are,  or  to 
expatiate  upon  the  unfortunateness  of  their  being 
confounded  under  the  same  generic  name.  Muscu- 
lar feelings  whenever  they  are  massive,  and  the 
body  is  not  “fresh/’  are  rather  disagreeable,  espe- 
cially when  accompanied  by  stopped  breath,  con- 
gested head,  bruised  skin  of  fingers,  toes,  or  shoul- 
ders, and  strained  joints.  And  it  is  only  as  thus 
disagreeable  that  the  mind  has  difficulty  in  consent- 
ing to  their  reality.  That  they  happen  to  be  made 
real  by  our  bodily  activity  is  a purely  accidental  cir- 


202 


[1880]  the  feeling  of  effort 


cumstance.  A soldier  standing  still  to  be  fired  at, 
expects  disagreeable  sensations  engendered  by  his 
bodily  passivity.  The  action  of  his  will,  in  consent- 
ing to  the  expectation,  is  identical  with  that  of  the 
sailor  rising  to  go  to  the  pumps.  What  is  hard  for 
both  is  facing  an  idea  as  real. 

The  action  of  the  will  must  not  be  limited  to  the 
willing  of  an  act.  To  exert  the  will  and  to  make  * 
soft  muscles  hard,  are  not  one  thing,  but  two  en- 
tirely different  things.  Extremely  frequent  associa- 
tion may  account  for,  but  not  excuse  their  confusion 
by  the  psychologist.  The  represented  disagreeable- 
ness of  a muscular  motion  may  often  be  that  which 
an  exertion  of  will  is  called  on  to  overcome;  but 
as  well  might  a cook,  who  daily  associates  the  burn- 
ing of  the  fire  with  the  boiling  of  the  potatoes,  define 
the  inward  essence  of  combustion  as  the  making  of 
hard  potatoes  soft. 

The  action  of  the  will  is  the  reality  of  consent  to  » 
a fact  of  any  sort  whatever,  a fact  in  which  we  our- 
selves may  play  either  an  active  or  a suffering  part. 
The  fact  always  appears  to  us  in  an  idea : and  it  is 
willed  by  its  idea  becoming  victorious  over  inhibit- 
ing ideas,  banishing  negations,  and  remaining 
affirmed.  The  victorious  idea  is  in  every  case  what- 
soever built  up  of  images  of  feelings  afferent  in  their 
origin.  And  the  first  philosophical  conclusion  prop-/ 
erly  so-called,  into  which  our  inquiry  leads  us,  is  a 
confirmation  of  the  older  sensationalist  view  that 
all  the  mind’s  materials  without  exception  are  de- 
rived from  passive  sensibility.  Those  who  have 


203 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1880] 


thought  that  sensationalism  abdicated  its  throne 
and  mental  spontaneity  came  in  when  Professor 
Bain  admitted  a “sensation  of  energy  exerted  by  the 
outgoing  stream,”  have  rejoiced  in  the  wrong  place 
altogether.  There  is  a feeling  of  mental  spontaneity, 
opposed  in  nature  to  all  afferent  feelings;  but  it 
does  not,  like  the  pretended  feeling  of  muscular  in- 
nervation, sit  among  them  as  among  its  peers.  It  is 
something  which  dominates  them  all,  by  simply 
choosing  from  their  midst.  It  may  reinforce  either 
one  in  turn — a retinal  image  by  attending  to  it,  a 
motor  image  by  willing  it,  a complex  conception, 
like  that  of  the  world  having  a divine  meaning,  by 
believing  it.  Whatever  mental  material  this  ele- 
ment of  spontaneity  comes  and  perches  on,  is  sus- 
tained, affirmed,  selected  from  the  rest ; though  but 
for  the  feeling  of  spontaneous  psychic  effort,  which 
thus  reinforces  it,  we  are  conscious  every  moment 
that  it  might  cease  to  be.  The  whole  contrast  of  a 
priori  and  empirical  elements  in  the  mind  lies,  I am 

' fully  convinced,  in  this  distinction.  All  our  mind’s 

• contents  are  alike  empirical.  What  is  a priori  is 

• only  their  accentuation  and  emphasis.  This  greet- 
ing of  the  spirit,  this  acquiescence,  connivance,  par- 
tiality, call  it  what  you  will,  which  seems  the  in- 
ward gift  of  our  selfhood,  and  no  essential  part  of 
the  feelings,  to  either  of  which  in  turn  it  may  be 
given, — this  psychic  effort  pure  and  simple,  is  the 
fact  which  a priori  psychologists  really  have  in  mind 
when  they  indignantly  deny  that  the  whole  intellect 
is  derived  from  sense. 


204 


[1880]  the  feeling  of  effort 


V.  No  Conscious  Dynamic  Connection  between 
the  Inner  and  Outer  Worlds 

Now  if  we  take  this  psychic  fact  for  just  what  on 
the  face  of  it  it  seems  to  be,  namely,  the  giving  to  an 
idea  the  full  degree  of  reality  it  can  have  in  and  for 
the  mind,  we  are  led  to  a curious  view  of  the  re- 
lations between  the  inner  and  the  outer  worlds. 
The  ideas,  as  mere  representatives  of  possibility, 
seem  set  up  midway  between  them  to  form  a sort  of 
atmosphere  in  which  Reality  floats  and  plays.  The 
mind  can  take  any  one  of  these  ideas  and  make  it  its 
reality — sustain  it,  adopt  it,  adhere  to  it.  But  the 
mind’s  state  will  be  Error,  unless  the  outer  force 
“backs”  the  same  idea.  If  it  backs  it,  the  mind  is 
cognitive  of  Truth;  but  whether  in  error,  or  in 
truth,  the  mind’s  espousal  of  the  idea  is  called 
Belief.  The  outer  force  seems  in  no  wise  con- 
strained to  back  the  mind’s  adoptions,  except  in  one 
single  kind  of  case, — where  the  idea  is  that  of  bodily 
movement.  Here  the  outer  force  (with  certain  reser- 
vations) obeys  and  follows  the  mind’s  lead,  agreeing 
to  father  as  it  were  every  child  of  that  sort  which 
the  mind  may  conceive.  And  the  act  by  which  the 
mind  thus  takes  the  lead  is  called  a Volition. 

The  ideas  backed  by  both  parties  are  the  Reality ; 
those  backed  by  neither,  or  by  the  mind  alone,  form 
a residuum,  a sort  of  limbo  or  no-man’s  land,  of 
wasted  fancies  and  aborted  possibilities. 

But  is  it  not  obvious  from  this  that  the  differ- 


205 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0880] 


ence  between  Belief  and  Volition  is  not  intrinsic? 
What  the  mind  does  in  both  cases  is  the  same.  It 
takes  an  image,  and  says,  “so  far  as  I am  concerned, 
let  this  stand ; let  it  be  real  for  me.”  The  behavior 
of  the  outer  force  is  what  makes  all  the  difference. 
Generally  constrained  in  the  case  of  the  motor  voli- 
tion, it  is  independent  in  the  case  of  the  belief.  It 
is  true  that  volition  may  be  impotent  and  belief 
delusive ; but  be  they  however  never  so  false  or  pow- 
erless, by  their  inward  nature  they  are  ejusdem 
farince, — beliefs  and  volitions  still. 

Belief  and  Will  are  thus  concerned  immediately 
only  with  the  relation  between  possibilities  for  the 
mind  and  realities  for  the  mind.  The  notion  of 
reality  for  the  mind  becomes  thus  the  pivotal  notion 
in  the  analysis  of  both.  To  analyze  this  notion  itself 
seems  at  present  an  impossible  task.  Professor 
Bain  has  exerted  his  utmost  powers  upon  it,  but,  to 
our  mind,  without  avail ; and  what  J.  S.  Mill  says1 
still  remains  true,  that  when  we  arrive  at  the  ele- 
ment which  makes  a belief  differ  from  a mere  con- 
ception, “we  seem  to  have  reached  as  it  were,  the 
central  point  of  our  intellectual  nature,  presup- 
posed and  built  upon  in  every  attempt  to  explain  the 
more  recondite  phenomena  of  our  being.” 

The  sense  of  reality  must  then  be  postulated  as 
an  ultimate  psychic  fact.  But  we  know  that  it  may 
come  with  effort,  or  without,  in  the  theoretic  as  well 

1His  edition  of  James  Mill’s  Analysis,  Vol.  i,  p.  423. 
Bain’s  reply  is  in  the  chapter  on  “Belief”  in  the  3d  edition  of 
his  Emotions  and  Will. 


206 


[1880]  THE  feeling  of  effort 


as  in  the  motor  sphere ; and  the  reader  who  has  had 
the  patience  to  follow  our  study  of  effort  as  far  as 
this,  will  not  object  to  going  on  now  to  consider  it 
in  both  spheres  together. 

Hume  said  that  to  believe  an  idea  was  simply  to 
have  it  in  a lively  manner.  We,  on  our  part,  have 
seen  the  ideo-motor  cases  in  which  to  will  an  idea 
is  simply  to  have  it.  But  a moment’s  reflection 
shows  that  such  spontaneous  belief  and  will  are 
possible  only  where  the  mind’s  contents  are  at  a 
minimum  of  complication.  In  the  trance-subject’s 
mind  any  simple  suggestion  will  be  both  believed 
and  acted  on,  because  none  of  its  usual  associates 
are  awakened.  Bain1  and  Taine2  have  beautifully 
shown  how  in  the  normal  subject  all  ideas  taken 
per  se  are  hallucinatory  or  held  as  true.  Doubt 
never  comes  from  any  intrinsic  insufficiency  in  a 
thought,  but  from  the  manner  in  which  extrinsic 
ideas  conflict  with  it,  or  in  Taine’s  phrase,  serve  as 
its  reductive.  Before  they  come  we  have  the  primal 
state  of  theoretic  and  practical  innocence. 

But  wider  suggestions  bring  the  fall,  and  turn  the 
simple  credulity  to  doubt  and  the  fearless  spon- 
taneity to  hesitation.  A stable  faith,  a firm  decree, 
can  then  only  come  after  reflection,  and  be  its 
fruits.  What  is  reflection?  A conflict  between  * 
many  ideas  of  possibility.  During  the  conflict  the 
sense  of  reality  is  lost  or  rather  the  connexion  be- 
tween it  and  each  of  the  ideas  in  turn.  The  conflict 

1 Emotions  and  Will,  3d  Ed.,  pp.  511-517. 

2 De  l' Intelligence,  Part  i,  Book  ii,  Chap.  i. 


207 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  KEVIEWS  0880] 


is  over  when  the  sense  of  reality  returns,  like  the 
tempered  steel,  ten  times  more  precious  and  invinci- 
ble for  its  icy  bath  in  the  waters  of  uncertainty. 
But  why  and  how  does  it  return?  and  why  does  it 
so  often  return  with  the  symptom  of  effort  by  its 

I 

side?  Is  it  an  independent  entity  which  merely 
took  its  flight  at  the  first  alarm  of  the  battle,  and 
which  now  with  effort  as  its  ally  and  affirmation  at 
its  right  hand  and  negation  at  its  left,  comes  back 
to  give  the  victory  to  one  idea?  Or  is  it  a simple 
resultant  of  the  victory  which  was  a foregone  con- 
clusion decided  by  the  intrinsic  strength  of  the  con- 
flicting ideas  alone? 

We  stand  here  in  the  presence  of  another  mighty 
metaphysical  problem.  If  the  latter  alternative  be 
true  there  is  no  genuine  spontaneity,  no  ambiguous 
power  of  decision,  no  real  freedom  either  of  faith 
or  of  act.  The  effort  which  seems  to  come  and  rein- 
force one  side,  endowing  it  with  the  feeling  of 
reality,  can  be  no  new  force  adding  itself  to  those 
already  in  the  arena.  It  can  only  be  a sort  of  eddy 
or  derivative  from  their  movement,  whose  sem- 
blance of  independent  form  is  illusory,  and  whose 
amount  and  direction  are  implicitly  given  the  mo- 
ment they  are  posited. 

This  has  been  the  doctrine  of  powerful  schools. 
The  ideas  themselves  and  their  conflict  have  been 
held  to  constitute  the  total  history  of  the  mind,  with 
no  unaccounted-for  phenomenon  left  over.  Long 
before  mutual  inhibition  by  nerve  processes  had 
been  discovered,  the  inhibitions  and  furtherances 


208 


[1880]  THE  FEELING  OF  EFFORT 


of  one  idea  by  another,  had  by  Herbart  been  erected 
into  a completely  elaborated  system  of  psychic 
statics  and  dynamics.  The  English  associationist 
school,  without  using  the  word  inhibition,  and  in 
a much  less  outwardly  systematic,  though  by  no 
means  less  successful  way,  had  also  represented 
choice  and  decision  as  nothing  but  the  resultant  of 
different  ideas  failing  to  neutralize  each  other 
exactly.  Doubt,  fear,  contradiction,  curiosity,  de- 
sire, assent,  conviction,  affirmation,  negation  and 
effort,  are  all  alike,  on  this  view,  but  collateral  pro- 
duct, incidents  of  the  form  of  equilibrium  of  the 
representations,  as  they  pass  from  the  oscillating 
to  the  stable  state. 

This  is  of  course  conceivable;  and  to  have  the 
conception  in  a lively  manner  (as  Hume  says) 
may  well  in  us,  as  in  so  many  others,  carry  the  sense 
of  reality  with  it,  and  command  conviction.  But 
still  the  other  alternative  conflicts,  and  may  reduce 
this  conception  to  one  of  mere  possibility,  degrading 
it  from  a creed  to  an  hypothesis.  It  seems  im- 
possible, if  our  minds  are  in  this  open  state,  to 
find  any  crucial  evidence  which  may  decide.  I shall, 
therefore,  not  pretend  to  dogmatize  myself,  but 
close  this  essay  by  a few  considerations,  which  may 
give  at  least  an  appearance  of  liveliness  to  the  alter- 
native notion,  that  the  mental  effort  with  which  the  • 
affirmation  of  reality  so  often  comes  conjoined,  may 
be  an  adventitious  phenomenon,  not  wholly  given 
and  pre-determined  by  the  ideas  of  whose  struggle 
it  accompanies  the  settlement. 


209 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0880] 


A little  natural  history  becomes  here  necessary. 
When  outer  forces  impinge  upon  a body  we  say  that 
its  resultant  motion  follows  the  line  of  least  re- 
sistance, or  of  greatest  traction.  When  we  deliber- 
ately symbolize  the  mental  drama  in  mechanical 
language,  we  also  say  that  belief  and  will  follow 
the  lines  of  least  resistance,  or  of  most  attractive 
motivation.  But  it  is  a curious  fact  that  our  spon- 
taneous language  is  by  no  means  compatible  with 
the  law  that  mental  action  always  follows  lines  of 
least  resistance.  Of  course,  if  we  proceed  a priori 
and  define  the  line  of  least  resistance,  as  the  line 
that  is  followed,  the  law  must  hold  good.  But  in 
all  hard  cases  either  of  belief  or  will,  it  seems  to  the 
agent  as  if  one  line  were  easier  than  another,  and 
offered  least  resistance,  even  at  the  moment  when 
the  other  line  is  taken.  The  sailor  at  the  pumps,  he 
who  under  the  surgeon’s  knife  represses  cries  of 
pain,  or  he  who  exposes  himself  to  ostracism  for 
duty’s  sake,  feels  as  if  he  were  following  the  line  of 
greatest  temporary  resistance.  He  speaks  of  con- 
quering and  overcoming  his  impulses  and  tempta- 
tions. 

But  the  sluggard,  the  drunkard,  the  coward, 
never  talk  of  their  conduct  in  that  way  or  say  they 
resist  their  energy,  overcome  their  sobriety,  con- 
* quer  their  courage,  and  so  forth.  If  in  general  we 
class  all  motives  as  sensual  on  the  one  hand  and 
moral  on  the  other,  the  sensualist  never  says  of  his 
behavior  that  it  results  from  a victory  over  his 
conscience,  but  the  moralist  always  speaks  of  his 


210 


[1880]  the  feeling  of  effort 


as  a victory  over  his  appetite.  The  sensualist  uses 
terms  of  inactivity,  says  he  forgets  his  ideal,  is 
deaf  to  duty,  and  so  forth;  which  terms  seem  to 
imply  that  the  moral  motives  per  se  can  be  annulled 
without  energy  or  effort,  and  that  the  strongest 
mere  traction  lies  in  the  line  of  the  sensual  impulse. 
The  moral  one  appears  in  comparison  with  this,  a 
still  small  voice  which  must  be  artificially  rein- 
forced to  prevail.  Effort  is  what  reinforces  it, 
making  things  seem  as  if,  while  the  sensual  force 
were  essentially  a fixed  quantity,  the  moral  might 
be  of  various  amount.  But  what  determines  the 
amount  of  the  effort  when  by  its  aid  moral  force 
becomes  victorious  over  a great  sensual  resistance? 
The  very  greatness  of  the  resistance  itself.  If  the 
sensual  impulses  are  small,  the  moral  effort  is  small. 
The  latter  is  made  great  by  the  presence  of  a great 
antagonist  to  overcome.  And  if  a brief  defini-  * 
tion  of  moral  action  wTere  required,  none  could  be 
given  which  would  better  fit  the  appearances  than 
this : It  is  action  in  the  line  of  the  greatest  re- 
sistance. 

The  facts  may  be  most  briefly  symbolized  thus,  ^ 
S standing  for  the  sensual  motive,  M for  the  moral, 
and  E for  the  effort : 

M per  se  S. 

M -f  E > S. 

In  other  words,  if  E adds  itself  to  M,  S immedi- 
ately offers  the  least  resistance,  and  motion  occurs 
in  spite  of  it. 


211 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  FSSO] 


But  the  E does  not  seem  to  form  an  integral  part 
of  the  M.  It  appears  adventitious  and  indeter- 
minate in  advance.  We  can  make  more  or  less  as  we 
please,  and  if  we  make  enough  we  can  convert  the 
greatest  mental  resistance  into  the  least. 

Now  the  question  whether  this  appearance  of 
ambiguity  is  illusory  or  real,  is  the  question  of  the 
freedom  of  the  will.  Many  subtle  considerations 
may  be  brought  to  prove  that  the  amount  of  effort 
which  a moral  motive  comports  as  its  ally,  is  a fixed 
function  of  the  motive  itself,  and  like  it,  determined 
in  advance.  On  the  other  hand,  there  is  the  notion 
of  an  absolute  ambiguity  in  the  being  of  this  thing, 
and  its  amount,  sun-clear  to  the  consciousness  of 
each  of  us.  He  who  loves  to  balance  nice  doubts 
and  probabilities,  need  be  in  no  hurry  to  decide. 
Like  Mephistopheles  to  Faust,  he  can  say  to  himself, 
“dazu  hast  du  noch  eine  lange  Frist,”  for  from 
generation  to  generation  the  evidence  for  both  sides 
will  grow  more  voluminous,  and  the  question  more 
exquisitely  refined.  But  if  his  speculative  delight  is 
less  keen,  if  the  love  of  a parti  pris  outweighs  that 
of  keeping  questions  open,  or  if,  as  a French  philoso- 
pher of  genius1  says,  “V amour  de  la  vie  qui  s’in- 
digne  de  tant  de  discours  ” awakens  in  him,  craving 
the  sense  of  either  peace  or  power ; then  taking  the 
risk  of  error  on  his  head,  he  must  project  upon  one 
of  the  alternatives  in  his  mind,  the  attribute  of 
* reality  for  him.  The  present  writer  does  this  for 
the  alternative  of  freedom.  May  the  reader  derive 

1 J.  Lequier : La  Recherche  d'une  Premiere  V6rit6,  1865,  p.  90. 

212 


[18S0]  the  feeling  of  effort 


no  less  contentment  if  lie  prefer  to  take  the  opposite 
course ! 

Only  one  further  point  remains,  hut  that  is  an 
important  one  philosophically.  There  is  no  com- 
moner remark  than  this,  that  resistance  to  our  mus- 
cular effort  is  the  only  sense  which  makes  us  aware 
of  a reality  independent  of  ourselves.  The  reality  re- 
vealed to  us  in  this  experience  takes  the  form  of  a 
force  like  the  force  of  effort  which  we  ourselves 
exert,  and  the  latter  after  a certain  fashion  serves 
to  measure.1  This  force  we  do  not  similarly  exert 
when  we  receive  tactile,  auditory,  visual,  and  other 
impressions,  so  the  same  reality  cannot  be  revealed 
by  those  passive  senses. 

Of  course  if  the  foregoing  analysis  be  true,  such 
reasoning  falls  to  the  ground.  The  “muscular 
sense”  being  a sum  of  afferent  feelings  is  no  more  a 
“force-sense”  than  any  other  sense.  It  reveals  to  us 
hardness  and  pressure  as  they  do  colour,  taste, 
smell,  sonority,  and  the  other  attributes  of  the 
phenomenal  world.  To  the  naive  consciousness  all 
these  attributes  are  equally  objective.  To  the  criti- 
cal all  equally  subjective.  The  physicist  knows 
nothing  whatever  of  force  in  a non-phenomenal 
sense.  Force  is  for  him  only  a generic  name  for  all 
those  things  which  will  cause  motion.  A falling 

1 See  for  example,  Psychology  [presumably  Spencer’s.  Ed.], 
Part  VII.,  Chaps.  XVI.  and  XVII. ; Herseliel's  Familiar  Lec- 
tures, Lecture  XII. ; an  article  on  “the  Force  behind  Nature,” 
by  Dr.  Carpenter,  reprinted  in  the  Popular  Science  Monthly  for 
March,  1880 ; Martineau’s  Review  of  Bain ; Mansel’s  Meta- 
physics, pp.  105,  346. 


213 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0880] 


stone,  a magnet,  a cylinder  of  steam,  a man,  just  as 
they  appear  to  sense,  are  forces.  There  is  no  super- 
sensible force  in  or  behind  them.  Their  force  is 
just  their  sensible  pull  or  push,  if  we  take  them 
naturally,  and  just  their  positions  and  motions  if 
we  take  them  scientifically.  If  we  aspire  to  strip 
off  from  Nature  all  anthropomorphic  qualities,  there 
is  none  we  should  get  rid  of  quicker  than  its 
“Force.”  How  illusory  our  spontaneous  notions  of 
force  grow  when  projected  into  the  outer  world 
becomes  evident  as  soon  as  we  reflect  upon  the  phe- 
nomenon of  muscular  contraction.  In  pure  objec- 
tive dynamic  terms  ( i.e .,  terms  of  position  and 
motion ) , it  is  the  relaxed  state  of  the  muscle  which 
is  the  state  of  stress  and  tension.  In  the  act  of  con- 
traction, on  the  contrary,  the  tension  is  resolved, 
and  disappears.  Our  feeling  about  it  is  just  the 
other  way, — which  shows  how  little  our  feeling  has 
to  do  with  the  matter. 

The  subject  has  an  interest  in  connection  with  the 
free-will  controversy.  It  is  an  admitted  mechanical 
principle  that  the  resultant  movement  of  a system 
of  bodies  linked  together  in  definite  relations  of 
energy,  may  vary  according  to  changes  in  their 
collocation,  brought  about  by  moving  them  at  right 
angles  to  their  pre-existing  movements ; which 
changes  will  not  interfere  with  the  conservation  of 
the  system’s  energy,  as  they  perform  work  upon  it. 
Certain  persons  desiring  to  harmonize  free  will 
with  the  theory  of  conservation,  have  used  this  con- 
ception to  symbolize  the  dynamic  relations  of  will 


214 


[1880]  the  feeling  of  effort 


with  brain,  by  saying  that  the  mental  effort  merely 
determines  the  moment  and  the  spot  at  which  a 
certain  molecular  vis  viva  shall  start,  by  a sort  of 
rectangular  pressure  which  plays  the  part  of  an 
independent  variable  in  the  equations  of  movement 
required  by  the  principles  of  conservation.  Thus 
free  will  may  be  conceived  without  any  of  the  in- 
ternal energy  of  the  system  being  either  augmented 
or  destroyed. 

Now  so  long  as  mental  effort  in  general  was  sup- 
posed to  have  a particular  connection  with  mus- 
cular effort,  and  so  long  as  muscular  effort  was  sup- 
posed to  reveal  to  us  behind  the  resistance  of  bodies, 
a “force”  which  they  contained,  there  was  a ready 
reply  to  all  this  speculation.  Your  will,  it  could  be 
said,  is  doing  “work”  upon  the  system.  “Work”  is 
defined  in  mechanics  as  movement  done  against  re- 
sistance, and  your  will  meets  with  a resistance 
which  it  has  to  overcome  by  moral  effort.  Were  the 
molecular  movements  brought  about  by  the  will, 
rectangular  to  pre-existing  movements,  they  would 
not  resist,  and  the  volition  would  be  effortless.  But 
the  volition  involves  effort,  and  since,  according  to 
the  will-muscle-force-sense  theory,  its  effort  is  an 
inner  force  which  overcomes  a real  outer  force, 
since,  indeed,  without  this  antagonism  we  should  be 
without  the  notion  of  outer  force  altogether,  why 
then  the  effort,  if  free,  must  be  an  absolutely  new 
contribution  and  creation  so  far  as  the  sum  of 
cosmic  energy  is  concerned.  The  only  alternative 
then  (if  one  still  held  to  the  will-muscle-force-sense 


215 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0880] 


theory)  was  either  with  Sir  John  Herschel,1  frankly 
to  avow  that  “force”  may  be  created  anew,  and  that 
“conservation”  is  only  an  approximate  law;  or  else 
to  drop  free-will  in  favor  of  conservation,  and  sup- 
pose the  ego,  in  willing,  to  be  merely  cognitively 
conscious,  in  the  midst  of  the  universal  force-stream, 
of  certain  currents  with  which  it  was  mysteriously 
fated  to  identify  itself. 

To  my  mind  all  such  discussions  rest  on  an  an- 
thropomorphization  of  outward  force,  which  is  to 
the  last  degree  absurd.  Outward  forces,  so  far  as 
they  are  anything,  are  masses  in  certain  positions, 
or  in  certain  movements,  and  nought  besides.  The 
muscular  “force-sense”  reveals  to  us  nothing  but 
hardness  and  pressure,  which  are  subjective  sensa- 
tions, like  warmth  or  pain.  The  moral  effort  is 
not  transitive  between  the  inner  and  the  outer 
worlds,  but  is  put  forth  upon  the  inner  world 
alone.  Its  point  of  application  is  an  idea.  Its 
achievement  is  “reality  for  the  mind,”  of  that  idea. 
That,  when  the  idea  is  realized,  the  corresponding 
nerve  tracts  should  be  modified,  and  so  de  proche 
en  proche,  the  muscles  contract,  is  one  of  those 
harmonies  between  inner  and  outer  worlds,  before 
which  our  reason  can  only  avow  its  impotence.  If 
our  reason  tries  to  interpret  the  relation  as  a 
dynamic  one,  and  to  conceive  that  the  neural  modi- 
fication is  brought  about  by  the  idea  shoving  the 
molecules  of  the  ganglionic  matter  sideways  from 
their  course,  well  and  good!  Only  we  had  better 


1 Loc.  cit.,  p.  468. 
216 


[18S0]  THE  feeling  of  effort 


assume  ourselves  unconscious  of  the  dynamism. 
We  are  unconscious  of  the  molecules  as  such,  and  of 
our  lateral  push  as  such.  Why  should  we  be  con- 
scious of  the  “force”  as  such,  by  which  the  mole- 
cules resist  the  push?  They  are  one  thing,  and  the 
consciousness  which  they  subserve  is  always  an  idea 
of  another  thing.  The  only  resistance  which  the  * 
force  of  consciousness  feels  or  can  feel,  is  the  resist- 
ance which  the  idea  makes  to  being  consented  to  as 
real. 

Conclusions 

1.  Muscular  effort,  properly  so  called,  and  mental 
effort,  properly  so  called,  must  be  distinguished. 
What  is  commonly  known  as  “muscular  exertion” 
is  a compound  of  the  two. 

2.  The  only  feelings  and  ideas  connected  with  * 
muscular  motion  are  feelings  and  ideas  of  it  as 
effected.  Muscular  effort  proper  is  a sum  of  feel-  * 
ings  in  afferent  nerve  tracts,  resulting  from  motion 
being  effected. 

3.  The  pretended  feeling  of  efferent  innervation  • 
does  not  exist — the  evidence  for  it  drawn  from 
paralysis  of  single  eye  muscles,  vanishing  when  we ' 
take  the  position  of  the  sound  eye  into  account. 

4.  The  philosophers  who  have  located  the  human  * 
sense  of  force  and  spontaneity  in  the  nexus  between 
the  volition  and  the  muscular  contraction,  making 
it  thus  join  the  inner  and  the  outer  worlds,  have 
gone  astray. 

5.  The  point  of  application  of  the  volitional  ef-  * 


217 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  EEVIEWS  D880] 


fort  always  lies  within  the  inner  world,  being  an 
idea  or  representation  of  afferent  sensations  of  some 
sort.  From  its  intrinsic  nature  or  from  the  pres- 
ence of  other  ideas,  this  representation  may  spon- 
taneously tend  to  lapse  from  vivid  and  stable  con- 
sciousness. Mental  effort  may  then  accompany  its 
maintenance.  That  (being  once  maintained)  it 
should  by  the  connection  between  its  cerebral  seat 
and  other  bodily  parts,  give  rise  to  movements  in 
the  so-called  voluntary  muscles,  or  in  glands,  ves- 
sels, and  viscera,  is  a subsidiary  and  secondary  mat- 
ter, with  which  the  psychic  effort  has  nothing 
immediately  to  do. 

6.  Attention,  belief,  affirmation,  and  motor  vo- 
lition are  thus  four  names  for  an  identical  process, 
incidental  to  the  conflict  of  ideas  alone,  the  survival 
of  one  in  spite  of  the  opposition  of  others. 

7.  The  surviving  idea  is  invested  with  a sense  of 
reality  which  cannot  at  present  be  further  analyzed. 

8.  The  question  whether,  when  its  survival  in- 
volves the  feeling  of  effort,  this  feeling  is  deter- 
mined in  advance  or  absolutely  ambiguous  and 
matter  of  chance  as  far  as  all  the  other  data  are 
concerned,  is  the  real  question  of  the  freedom  of  the 
will,  and  explains  the  strange  intimateness  of  the 
feeling  of  effort  to  our  personality. 

9.  To  single  out  the  sense  of  muscular  resistance 
as  the  “force  sense”  which^alone  can  make  us  ac- 
quainted with  the  reality  of  an  outward  world  is 
an  error.  We  cognize  outer  reality  by  every  sense. 
The  muscular  makes  us  aware  of  its  hardness  and 


218 


[issoj  the  FEELING  OF  EFFORT 


pressure,  just  as  other  afferent  senses  make  us  aware 
of  its  other  qualities.  If  they  are  too  anthropo- 
morphic to  be  true,  so  is  it  also. 

10.  The  ideational  nerve  tracts  alone  are  the  seat 
of  the  feeling  of  mental  effort.  It  involves  no  dis- 
charge downward  into  tracts  connecting  them  with 
lower  executive  centres ; though  such  discharge  may 
follow  upon  the  completion  of  the  neiwe  processes 
to  which  the  effort  corresponds. 


219 


XIV 


THE  SENSE  OF  DIZZINESS  IN 
DEAF-MUTES  1 
[1882] 

Prevented  by  outward  circumstances  from  com- 
pleting an  investigation  into  the  above  subject 
which  I would  willingly  have  made  more  thor- 
ough, I publish  the  facts  I have  already  obtained, 
in  the  hope  that  some  one  with  better  opportunities 
may  carry  on  the  work.  The  regular  medical  at- 
tendants of  deaf-mute  institutions  seem  particularly 
well  fitted  for  such  a task. 

So  far  as  I can  make  out,  the  immunity  from 
dizziness  which  is  characteristic  of  deaf-mutes  has 
never  been  remarked  or  commented  on  before,  even 
at  asylums.  Another  illustration  of  how  few  facts 
“experience”  will  discover  unless  some  prior  inter- 
est, born  of  theory,  is  already  awakened  in  the  mind. 

The  modern  theory,  that  the  semicircular  canals 
are  unconnected  with  the  sense  of  hearing,  but  serve 
to  convey  to  us  the  feeling  of  movement  of  our  head 
through  space,  a feeling  which,  when  very  intensely 

[’  Reprinted  from  American  Journal  of  Otology,  1882,  4,  239- 
254.  This  article  is  briefly  mentioned  in  the  Principles  (1890), 
Vol.  II.,  p.  89,  note.  Ed.] 


220 


[1882]  the  sense  of  dizziness 


excited,  passes  into  that  of  vertigo  or  dizziness,  is 
well  known.1  It  occurred  to  me  that  deaf-mute 
asylums  ought  to  offer  some  corroboration  of  the 
theory  in  question,  if  a true  one.  Among  their  in- 
mates must  certainly  be  a considerable  number  in 
whom  either  the  labyrinths  or  the  auditory  nerves 
in  their  totality  have  been  destroyed  by  the  same 
causes  that  produced  the  deafness.  We  ought  there- 
fore to  expect,  if  the  semicircular  canals  be  really 
the  starting-points  of  the  sensation  of  dizziness,  to 
find,  on  examining  a large  number  of  deaf-mutes, 
a certain  proportion  of  them  who  are  completely 
insusceptible  of  that  affection,  and  others  who  en- 
joy immunity  in  a less  complete  degree. 

The  number  of  deaf-mutes  who  have  been  ex- 
amined to  test  this  suggestion  is  in  all  519.  Of 
these  186  are  reported  as  totally  insusceptible  of 
being  made  dizzy  by  whirling  rapidly  round  with 
the  head  in  any  position  whatever.2  Nearly  200 

1 For  the  benefit  of  possible  readers  who  may  not  be  physiol- 
ogists I would  say  that  a summary  of  the  evidence  for  this  view 
is  given  in  Foster’s  Text-book  of  Physiology,  Book  III.,  Chap. 
VI.,  § 2.  An  attack  on  this  theory  has  recently  been  made  by 
Baginski,  a very  full  abstract  of  whose  article  appeared  in  the 
number  of  this  Journal  for  last  January.  Baginski’s  experi- 
ments seem  to  me  far  from  conclusive;  and  his  argument  has 
been  satisfactorily  replied  to  by  Hogyes  in  Pfliiger’s  Archiv, 
Vol.  XXVI.,  page  558,  and  by  Spamer,  ibid.,  Vol.  XXV.,  page  177. 
[For  bibliography,  cf.  J.  Byrne,  Physiology  of  the  Semicircular 
Canals  and  their  Relation  to  Seasickness,  1912.  Cf.  also  James’s 
“A  Suggestion  for  the  Prevention  of  Seasickness,”  Boston  Medi- 
cal and  Surgical  Jou7~nal,  1887,  116,  490-491.  Ed.] 

2 It  is  well  known  that  with  the  head  leaning  forward  or 
backward,  or  towards  one  shoulder,  the  dizziness  is  much  more 
intense. 


221 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  U882] 


students  and  instructors  in  Harvard  College  were 
examined  for  purposes  of  comparison,  and  but  a 
single  one  remained  exempt  from  the  vertigo.  Of 
the  deaf-mutes,  134  are  set  down  as  dizzy  in  a very 
slight  degree ; while  199  were  normally,  and  in  a few 
cases  abnormally,  sensitive. 

The  surmise  with  which  I started  is  thus  proved, 
and  the  theory  that  the  semicircular  canals  are 
organs  of  equilibrium  receives  renewed  corrobora- 
tion. 

Of  course  the  cases  observed  represent  every  kind 
of  ear  disease,  and  it  is  impossible  to  analyze  them 
so  as  to  show  why  exemption  from  vertigo  should 
be  associated  with  the  deafness  in  one  case  and  in 
another  not.  “Congenital”  mutes  are  found  in  all 
three  classes,  and  so  are  “semi-mutes,”  so  that  the 
age  at  which  the  deafness  comes  on  has  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  The  diseases  which  are  the  most 
fertile  causes  of  deafness,  meningitis,  scarlet  fever, 
typhoid  fever,  etc.,  are  as  apt  to  leave  the  patient’s 
sensibility  to  vertigo  normal  as  they  are  to  abolish 
it. 

The  cases  from  which  the  above  aggregate  con- 
clusions are  drawn  are  from  several  distinct 
sources:  the  Hartford  Asylum;  the  National  Col- 
lege at  Washington,  and  its  primary  department; 
the  Horace  Mann  School  in  Boston;  the  Clarke  In- 
stitution at  Northampton;  the  Indiana  Institution; 
the  answers  to  a printed  circular  I distributed,  and 
a number  of  separate  voluntary  reports  I received. 
In  tabular  form  the  statistics  run  as  follows : 


222 


[1882]  THE  SENSE  OF  DIZZINESS 


Institution. 

Not  dizzy. 

Slightly. 

Dizzy. 

National  College  .... 

18 

5 

38 

Its  Primary  Department  . 

11 

1 

19 

Hartford 

49 

49 

57 

Boston 

45 

20 

4 

Northampton 

35 

30 

20 

Indiana 

6 

6 

4 

Circulars 

28 

19 

46 

Various 

4 

4 

11 

186 

134 

199 

Total,  519  cases.1 

The  same  case  was  often  reported  through  more 
than  one  channel.  I have  tried  as  well  as  I could, 
though  I fear  without  perfect  success,  to  eliminate 
these  reduplications.  As  regards  the  accuracy  of 
the  reports,  there  is  this  to  be  said.  Among  normal 
people  it  is  well  known  how  individuals  differ  in 
their  sensitiveness  to  whirling  about  or  swinging. 
The  cases  marked  “slight”  may  possibly  therefore 
fall  within  the  normal  limits.  It  is  more  probable 
however  that  the  majority  of  them  represent  a more 
or  less  abnormally  reduced  susceptibility.  In  the 

1 1 add  the  following  communication  in  a note  because  it  is 
less  exactly  reported,  and  the  observations  were  perhaps  made 
more  cursorily  than  those  set  down  in  the  text.  Mr.  Fosdick, 
of  the  Institution  at  Danville,  Ky.,  writes  in  March,  1881 : “I 
selected  twenty  boys  about  half  of  whom  had  been  born  deaf, 
the  other  half  had  lost  hearing.  ...  I applied  to  them  our 
test  in  the  three  ways.  . . . With  those  who  had  lost  hearing 
from  disease  the  result  was  uniform.  No  dizziness  could  be 
produced.  . . . With  those  who  had  been  born  deaf  the  results 
were  equally  uniform.  A few  seconds  of  spinning  were  in  most 
cases  sufficient  to  produce  dizziness.” 


223 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0882] 


cases  I myself  examined,  every  one  where  the  pres- 
ence of  vertigo  was  at  all  doubtful  was  recorded  as 
“slight,”  so  as  not  to  overload  the  column  of  figures 
favorable  to  my  hypotheses.  In  the  Harvard  Col- 
lege records,  in  which  each  man  inscribed  his  own 
result,  the  expressions  “slightly”  and  “somewhat” 
occur,  but  they  do  so  very  few  times  indeed.  Where 
the  vertigo  was  slight,  it  has  often  happened  that 
a deaf-mute  examined  one  day  or  by  one  person 
was  reported  “not  dizzy,”  whilst  another  day  or 
another  examiner  caused  the  case  to  be  recorded 
either  as  “slightly  dizzy”  or  as  “dizzy.”  I am  dis- 
posed to  think  that  both  normal  and  abnormal  sub- 
jects differ  somewhat  in  their  sensibility  to  vertigo 
from  one  day  to  another.  Lowenfeld1  says  that  this 
is  markedly  the  case  with  the  vertigo  induced  by 
galvanic  currents  across  the  head,  of  which  I shall 
have  something  to  say  anon. 

A certain  lack  of  rigorous  accuracy  in  individual 
instances  ought  then  to  throw  no  discredit  whatever 
on  the  main  result  of  the  investigation,  which  is 
that  disease  of  the  internal  ear  is  likely  to  confer 
immunity  from  dizziness.  Nobody  could  possibly 
confound  the  extreme  cases,  nor  could  any  differ- 
ence of  opinion  arise  concerning  them.  We  see  on 
the  one  hand  an  affection  which  may  nauseate  the 
patient  or  make  it  impossible  for  him  to  stand  on  his 
feet  at  all ; on  the  other,  absolute  and  total  indiffer- 
ence to  the  whirling  in  every  respect  whatsoever. 

1 Exp.  u.  krit.  Untersuch.  zur  Electrotherapie  des  Geliirns, 
MUnchen,  1881. 


224 


[1882]  THE  sense  of  dizziness 


As  regards  the  method  of  examination,  active 
spinning  about  on  the  feet  with  the  head  succes- 
sively upright,  bent  forward,  and  inclined  on  one 
shoulder,  is  of  course  the  simplest  way  of  testing 
the  matter.  The  eyes  must  be  closed  to  eliminate 
optical  vertigo  pure  and  simple,  but  opened  when 
the  spinning  is  over,  so  that  the  patient  may  have 
every  advantage  for  walking  straight.  Except  in 
the  Boston  and  Northampton  Schools  this  was  the 
method  generally  used.  It  is  likely  to  give  an  un- 
duly small  number  of  total  exemptions,  from  the 
fact  that  if  the  whirling  has  been  long  and  violent, 
some  feeling  of  confusion  will  remain  for  a few  mo- 
ments as  a consequence  of  head  congestion,  and 
some  irregularity  of  gait  as  a consequence  of  in- 
voluntary continuance  of  muscular  action.  This 
latter  may  be  called  muscular  vertigo — it  probably 
figures  in  many  of  the  cases  marked  “slight.” 

The  muscular  vertigo  may  be  entirely  eliminated 
by  passive  rotation.  The  children  of  the  Boston 
and  Northampton  Schools  were  seated  on  a square 
board,  each  angle  whereof  had  a rope  affixed  to  it. 
The  ropes  were  kept  parallel  up  to  a height  above 
the  head  of  the  inmate  by  a cross-shaped  brace  of 
wood  which  kept  them  asunder  at  that  point.  Above 
the  cross-brace  they  rapidly  converged  to  the  point 
of  suspension  of  the  apparatus.  The  apparatus  is 
rotated  by  the  examiner’s  hands  till  the  ropes  above 
the  brace  are  tightly  twisted.  The  child  is  then 
seated  on  the  board,  with  closed  eyes,  and  head  in 
any  position  desired,  and  the  torsion  of  the  ropes  is 


225 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  H882] 


left  to  work  its  effects  freely.  These  consist  in  a 
rapid  revolution  of  the  whole  apparatus,  including 
its  inmate.  The  moment  the  speed  of  rotation  slack- 
ens, the  examiner  stops  the  rotation,  and  sets  the 
child,  who  has  been  instructed  previously,  to  open 
his  eyes  and  walk  as  straight  as  possible  towards 
a distant  point  on  the  floor.  I examined  all  the 
Northampton  children  myself  in  this  way,  and 
(with  my  brother’s  assistance)  repeated  thus  the 
examinations  made  of  the  children  of  the  Horace 
Mann  School  by  their  teachers  a year  before.1 
The  Harvard  students  were  also  examined  in 
this  way. 

It  is  difficult  to  be  sure,  in  many  of  the  cases 
marked  “slightly  dizzy,”  whether  the  sensation  ex- 
perienced by  the  subject  was  a mild  degree  of  true 
vertigo,  or  a slight  confusion  arising  from  the  ef- 
fects of  centrifugal  movement  of  the  intracranial 
fluids  and  viscera.  That  changes  of  intracranial 
pressure  will  give  rise  to  dizziness  by  directly  in- 
fluencing the  brain  independently  of  the  semicir- 

1 In  a preliminary  report  of  these  inquiries  published  in  the 
Harvard  University  Bulletin  No.  18  (1881),  the  figures  are  dif- 
ferent from  those  I give  here.  The  differences  are  due  to  later 
observations.  I regret  very  much  that,  owing  to  a rather  in- 
comprehensible degree  of  thoughtlessness,  it  never  occurred  to 
me  to  test  the  pupils’  sense  of  rotation  after  the  original  Crum- 
Brown  and  Mach  method ; that  is,  to  seat  them  in  the  swing 
with  closed  eyes,  to  rotate  it  gently  through  a comparatively 
small  number  of  degrees,  and  to  see  how  accurately  they  could 
afterwards  assign  the  direction  and  amount  of  rotation.  It 
is  to  be  hoped  that  any  one  repeating  the  observations  will  not 
leave  this  one  out.  We  should  expect  that  non-dizzy  deaf-mutes 
would  be  quite  unaware  of  the  rotation  if  it  were  absolutely 
frictionless  and  slow. 


226 


[1882] 


THE  SENSE  OF  DIZZINESS 


cular  canals  is  evident  from  tlie  number  of  sub- 
jects who  are  of  reduced  sensibility  as  respects 
dizziness  from  whirling,  but  who  say  that  they  feel 
dizzy  when  their  head  is  suddenly  raised  from  a 
bent  position,  or  when  they  get  up  after  stooping 
to  the  ground.  In  reply  to  a question  in  the  circu- 
lar, “Do  you  ever  experience  dizziness  under  any 
other  circumstances?”  [than  whirling]  two  of  the 
“not  dizzy”  class,  six  of  the  “slightly  dizzy”  class, 
and  five  of  the  “dizzy”  class  speak  of  experiencing 
this  feeling. 

In  the  light  of  all  these  facts  it  became  an  inter- 
esting question  to  ascertain  whether  the  dizziness 
produced  by  galvanic  currents  through  the  head  be 
due  to  irritation  of  the  vertigo  centres  themselves 
or  of  their  peripheral  organ  the  semicircular  canals. 
Hitzig,  as  is  well  known,  made  a careful  study  of 
these  phenomena  on  normal  persons;  it  may  be 
found  in  his  “ZJntersuchungen  iiber  das  Gehirn.” 
With  its  theoretical  conclusions  it  is  impossible  to 
agree.  The  objective  facts,  however,  which  I be- 
lieve he  first  accurately  analyzed,  are  these : If  the 
subjects’  eyes  are  open  they  move  slowly  towards 
the  side  of  the  anode  when  the  current  is  strong, 
then  rapidly  recover  themselves  by  a quick  move- 
ment towards  the  side  of  the  kathode.  At  the  same 
time  the  world  appears  to  swim  towards  the  kath- 
ode, and  the  head  and  body  inclined  over  towards 
the  anode. 

At  the  Northampton  School  we  tested  forty-three 
pupils  with  a galvanic  current  strong  enough  to 


227 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  KEVIEWS  0882] 


make  four  normal  adults,  on  whom  it  was  tried, 
bend  body  and  head  strongly  over.  Of  twenty-three 
deaf-mutes  of  the  “not  dizzy”  class,  only  five  showed 
this  phenomenon.  Of  twenty  pupils  of  the  “dizzy” 
class  (“slight”  cases  were  not  tried)  fourteen 
showed  it  in  a greater  or  less  degree.  At  the  Bos- 
ton School  the  girls  became  so  nervous  that  the  few 
results  I obtained  with  them  were  valueless.  Of  the 
boys,  fifteen  “not  dizzy”  cases  were  tried,  and  but 
one  swayed  towards  the  anode.  Three  “slight” 
cases  were  tried ; one  swayed,  the  other  two  did  not. 
One  “quite  dizzy”  case  had  the  current  passed,  but 
did  not  sway. 

With  respect  to  the  subjective  feelings  accom- 
panying the  current’s  passage,  they  are  so  numer- 
ous and  often  so  intense  that  a deaf-mute  child 
experiencing  them  for  the  first  time  can  hardly 
be  expected  to  give  a very  lucid  account  of  them. 
Stinging  of  the  skin  over  the  mastoid  processes, 
subjective  noises  (often  very  loud),  flashes  before 
the  eyes,  strange  cerebral  confusion,  are  prominent 
among  them,  Nevertheless,  it  seemed  evident  that 
many  of  the  patients  whose  body  did  not  sway  at 
all  and  whose  eyes  showed  no  perceptible  nystag- 
mus, did  have  some  sort  of  a vertiginous  feeling, 
which  they  expressed  by  moving  the  hand  wavingly 
across  the  forehead,  by  saying  they  were  “dizzy” 
or  felt  like  “falling.”  I regard  the  experiments, 
therefore,  as  almost  inconclusive.  To  be  of  value 
they  should  be  repeated  many  times  with  the  same 
subjects  on  different  days,  and  with  non-polarizable 


228 


[1SS2]  the  sense  of  dizziness 


electrodes  fastened  by  a spring  arc  behind  tbe  ears, 
so  as  to  follow  the  head  in  its  movements  without 
modifying  the  contact.  The  current  should  also 
be  measured,  which  was  not  done  accurately  in  the 
above  cases. 

Taken  as  they  stand,  all  I feel  like  saying  of  them 
is  that  they  make  it  appear  not  improbable  that 
both  the  vertigo  centre  and  its  peripheral  organ  are 
galvanically  excitable;  but  that  the  peripheral  or- 
gan is  much  more  sensitive  to  the  current  than  is 
the  centre.  There  was  certainly  a marked  differ- 
ence of  demeanor,  on  the  whole,  between  the  “dizzy” 
and  the  “not  dizzy”  pupils  of  the  Northampton 
School,  when  under  the  current,  even  though  in 
many  cases  the  difference  were  only  one  of  degree. 

In  view  of  the  great  probability  that  seasickness 
is  due  to  an  overexcitement  of  the  organs  of  vertigo, 
propagated  to  the  cerebellum  or  whatever  other 
“centres”  of  nausea  there  may  be,  I inquired  of 
many  deaf-mutes  whether  they  had  been  exposed  to 
rough  weather  at  sea  and  suffered  in  the  usual  way. 
The  majority,  of  course,  had  not  been  exposed.  Fif- 
teen of  the  “not  dizzy”  or  “scarcely  dizzy”  classes 
had  been  exposed,  and  of  these  not  one  had  been 
seasick.  This,  it  is  true,  is  negative  evidence,  and 
might  easily  be  upset  by  two  or  three  cases  of  ex- 
emption from  dizziness  with  susceptibility  to  sea- 
seasick.  This,  it  is  true,  is  negative  evidence,  and 

1 1 have  three  such  possible  counter-cases,  but  in  all  the  record 
is  so  imperfect  (and  no  address  being  given  further  inquiry 
cannot  be  made)  that  they  cannot  be  used.  To  question  8 in 
the  circular,  “Have  you  been  exposed  to  seasickness  and  been 


229 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0882] 


sumption  that  non-dizzy  deaf-mutes  may,  ipso  facto, 
enjoy  immunity  from  seasickness.  And  it  suggests 
the  application  of  small  blisters  behind  the  ears  as 
a possible  counter-irritant  to  that  excitement  of 
the  organs  beneath,  in  which  that  most  intolerable 
of  all  complaints  may  take  its  rise.1 

Perhaps  the  most  interesting  of  all  the  results  to 
which  our  inquiries  have  led  is  the  following.  A 
certain  number  of  non-dizzy  deaf-mutes  when 
plunged  under  water  seem  to  be  affected  by  an  in- 
describable alarm  and  bewilderment,  which  only 
ceases  when  they  find  their  heads  above  the  surface. 
Every  one  who  has  lost  himself  in  the  woods,  or 
wakened  in  the  darkness  of  the  night  to  find  the 
relation  of  his  bed’s  position  relatively  to  the  doors 
and  windows  of  his  room  forgotten,  knows  the  alto- 
gether peculiar  discomfort  and  anxiety  of  such 
“disorientation”  in  the  horizontal  plane.  In  ordi- 
nary life,  however,  the  sense  of  what  is  the  vertical 
direction  is  never  lost.  Even  with  eyes  closed,  and 
the  “static”  sense,  as  Brewer  calls  it,  of  the  semi- 
circular canals  lost,  gravity  exerts  its  never-ceasing 

seasick  since  losing  your  hearing?”  one,  forty-two  years  old, 
not  dizzy,  replies,  “Yes,  but  once  in  my  childhood.”  Another, 
slightly  dizzy,  thirty-nine  years  old,  deaf  at  thirteen  years, 
says,  “Was  greatly  nauseated  by  my  first  ride  in  the  rail  cars 
when  fourteen  years  old.”  The  third,  not  dizzy,  writes,  “Was 
on  a coast  steamer  for  three  days  out  of  sight  of  land  in  a 
storm ; felt  slightly  uncomfortable  in  state-room,  but  was  all 
right  in  the  open  air  of  the  deck.”  The  state-room  sickness 
may  have  been  due  to  smell. 

[*  Cf.  the  author’s  “A  Suggestion  for  the  Prevention  of  Sea- 
sickness,” Boston  Medical  and  Surgical  Journal,  1887,  116,  490- 
491.  Ed.] 


230 


[1882]  the  sense  of  dizziness 


influence  on  our  limbs,  and  tells  us  where  the  ground 
is  and  where  the  zenith,  no  matter  what  our  move- 
ments may  be.  “So  shakes  the  magnet,  and  so  stands 
the  pole.”  Helmholtz,  who  wrote  his  Optics  before 
the  semicircular  canal  sense  was  discovered,  as- 
cribes much  of  the  seasick  vertigo  to  the  sufferer’s 
sense  of  the  direction  of  gravity  being  thrown  out 
of  gear : “One  feels  the  traction  of  gravity  [on  board 
ship]  now  apparently  to  the  right,  now  to  the  left, 
now  forwards  and  now  backwards,  because  one  is 
no  longer  able  to  find  [with  his  eyes]  the  direction 
of  the  vertical.  Only  after  long  practice,  as  I can 
myself  testify,  does  one  come  to  use  gravity  as  an 
exclusive  means  of  orientation,  and  only  then  does 
the  vertigo  cease.”  1 

But  imagine  a person  without  even  the  sense  of 
gravity  to  guide  him,  and  the  “disorientation”  ought 
to  be  complete, — a sort  of  bewilderment  concerning 
his  relations  to  his  environment  in  all  three  dimen- 
sions will  ensue,  to  which  ordinary  life  offers  abso- 
lutely no  parallel.  Now  this  case  seems  realized 
when  a non-dizzy  deaf-mute  dives  under  water  with 

1 Physiol.  Optik,  page  664.  One  of  my  colleagues,  an  eminent 
geologist,  with  a good  topographical  instinct,  tells  me  that 
whenever  he  “loses  his  bearings”  in  the  country,  he  becomes 
nauseated.  I myself  became  distinctly  nauseated  one  night 
after  trying  for  a long  time  to  imagine  the  right  position  of  my 
bed  in  the  dark,  it  having  been  changed  a day  or  two  previous. 
These  facts  seem  to  show  that  a purely  ideal  excitement  of 
images  of  “direction,”  when  strong  and  confused,  such  images 
being  probably  faint  repetitions  of  semicircular  canal  feelings, 
may  engender  precisely  the  same  physical  consequences  as 
would  an  equally  strong  and  confused  excitement  of  the  canals 
themselves. 


231 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0882] 


his  eyes  closed.  He  hears  nothing  (except  perhaps 
subjective  roaring)  ; sees  nothing;  his  semicircular 
canal  sense  tells  him  nothing  of  motion  up  or  down, 
right  or  left,  or  round  about;  the  water  presses  on 
his  skin  equally  in  each  direction;  he  is  literally 
cut  off  from  all  knowledge  of  their  relations  to  outer 
space,  and  ought  to  suffer  the  maximum  possible  de- 
gree of  bewilderment  to  which  in  his  mundane  life 
a creature  can  attain. 

I have  received  information  bearing  on  this  point, 
and  distinct  enough  to  be  quoted,  from  thirty-three 
cases  in  all.  Curious  exceptions  occur  which  I 
cannot  understand,  and  which  I will  presently  state. 
Meanwhile  here  are  some  extracts  from  my  corre- 
spondents’ replies  which  show  the  condition  above 
described  to  be  no  fiction.  Prof.  Samuel  Porter  of 
the  College  at  Washington,  from  whom  I have  de- 
rived most  of  my  information  on  this  point,  says, 
“I  am  told  it  is  the  case  with  some  deaf-mutes  that 
they  sometimes  find  a difficulty  in  rising  after  a dive 
from  uncertainty  as  to  up  and  down.” 

L.  G.  (not  dizzy)  writes: 

“A  year  after  I lost  my  hearing,  on  a day  when  the 
sun  was  shining  briglitty,  I dove  from  a high  place,  and 
immediately  after  entering  the  water  had  no  knowledge 
of  locality.  In  what  direction  the  top  was  I could  not 
determine,  and  it  was  the  same  as  respects  the  bottom. 
I endured  agonies  in  searching  for  the  surface.  At 
last,  when  I had  given  up  all  hope,  my  head  was  for- 
tunately at  the  surface,  and  I was  soon  master  of  the 
situation.  I was  told  that  I had  been  swimming  on 
the  surface  with  the  back  of  my  head  sometimes  out 


232 


[1882]  THE  sense  of  dizziness 


of  water,  and  at  other  times  completely  immersed. 
For  years  I could  not  summon  up  courage  to  dive  again. 
I never  feel  at  my  ease  under  water.”1 

W.  H.  (scarcely  dizzy)  writes: 

“Since  I became  deaf  it  has  been  difficult  to  control 
myself  under  water.  . . . When  I undertake  to  dive 
into  the  water  I immediately  lose  all  control  over  my 
movements,  and  cannot  tell  which  way  is  up  or  which 
is  down.  . . . Once  I struck  against  something,  but  I 
am  not  able  to  say  whether  it  was  the  bottom  of  the 
river  or  the  steep  rocks  near  the  shore.” 

A.  S.  L.  (not  dizzy)  : 

“If  I get  my  head  under  water  it  is  impossible  for 
me  to  tell  which  is  the  top  or  bottom  of  the  river  or 
pond,  and  there  is  a great  roaring  and  buzzing  in  my 
head.” 

G.  M.  T.  (not  dizzy)  : 

“Before  I lost  my  hearing  I was  a good  diver,  but 
after  that  time  I could  never  trust  my  head  under 
water.” 

M.  C.  (not  dizzy)  : 

“Difficult  to  swim  or  dive  without  being  frightened 
terribly.  ...  I generally  close  eyes  till  under  water, 
then  open  them  till  top  is  reached.  If  eyes  are  kept 
closed  I become  confused.” 

J.  L.  H.  (doubtfully  dizzy)  : 

“It  is  very  seldom  that  any  deaf-mute  can  escape 
drowning  when  his  head  has  got  under  water.  Persons 
with  such  heads  as  mine  are  rendered  unable  to  come 
out  of  the  water  in  the  right  direction.” 

1 Says  eyes  were  closed. 

233 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  [1882] 


J.  C.  B.  (not  dizzy)  : 

“Dare  not  go  under  water  at  all  unless  by  day  and 
with  eyes  open.  . . . Must  keep  tlie  eyes  open.  Im- 
possible to  swim  in  the  dark.” 

C.  S.  D.  (not  dizzy)  : 

“Can’t  dive  at  all.  As  soon  as  water  gets  in  my  eyes, 
I can’t  get  them  open;  get  confused,  and  do  not  know 
whether  I am  standing  on  my  head  or  my  feet.” 

A.  B.  (not  dizzy)  : 

“Gets  perfectly  bewildered  under  water.  Dives  with 
closed  eyes.” 

C.  P.  F.  (not  dizzy)  : 

“I  undertook  on  one  occasion  to  turn  a summersault 
in  water  only  two  feet  deep.  It  was  done  in  such  a way 
that  I came  down  on  my  hands  and  knees  on  the  bottom 
with  my  head  under  water.  Instantly  I seemed  to  be 
in  water  fathoms  deep,  facing  a cliff  which  I was 
trying  to  climb  up  with  my  hands  and  feet.  I pawed 
and  pawed  but  could  not  rise,  neither  could  I sink. 
There  was  no  sensation  to  prove  to  me  that  I was  in  a 
horizontal  position;  every  sensation  was  that  of  stand- 
ing upright  in  water  above  my  head.  It  seemed  hours 
before  I could  climb  that  cliff,  though  it  was  only  a 
second  or  two  before  my  pawing  brought  me  into 
water  so  shallow  that  my  head  appeared  above  the  sur- 
face. Instantly  the  sensation  of  being  in  an  upright 
position  vanished,  and  I felt  myself  to  be  where  I really 
was,  on  my  hands  and  knees  in  the  water.” 

Of  this  class  of  cases  there  are  fifteen  out  of  the 
thirty-three.  The  remaining  ten  “not  dizzy”  say 
they  can  dh'e  perfectly  well.  Two  of  them  report 
that  they  do  so  equally  well  with  eyes  closed  or 


234 


[18S2]  the  sense  of  dizziness 


open,  and  of  two  others  Professor  Porter  sends  me 
the  same  account.  Of  the  residual  eight  there  are 
five  normal  as  respects  dizziness.  One  complains 
of  losing  equilibrium,  another  of  turning  giddy,  a 
third  of  “not  knowing  which  way  I am  going,”  a 
fourth  of  “losing  presence  of  mind,”  the  fifth  of 
having  “lost  power  of  directing  movements.” 
Closer  inquiry  of  this  last  case  showed  that  the  per- 
plexity only  happened  once,  and  that  its  cause  was 
then  the  bright  sunshine  on  the  bottom  of  the  bath- 
ing-tank which  he  mistook  for  the  light  of  the  sky.1 

Finally  three  cases,  “slightly  dizzy,”  complain  of 
noises  in  the  ears,  and  peculiar  feelings  which  make 
diving  difficult  of  performance. 

Obviously  the  conditions  are  very  complicated. 
In  the  eight  last  cases  the  symptoms  might  be  due 
(in  all  but  the  fifth)  to  the  entrance  of  water 
through  a perforated  tympanum.  This  is  well 
known  to  cause  both  dizziness  and  roaring,  but  the 
presence  of  tympanic  perforation  in  the  subjects  in 
question  is  unknown.  It  is  impossible  to  say 
whether  some  of  the  “bewilderment”  of  the  first 
fourteen  may  not  be  due  to  this  cause,  but  as  they 
report  themselves  “not  dizzy”  to  whirling,  this 
seems  in  the  main  unlikely. 

The  intermediate  class  of  ten  “not  dizzy,”  four  of 
whom  we  know  to  be  able  to  dive  with  closed  eyes 

1 The  same  cause  seems  to  have  increased  the  bewilderment 
of  Mr.  L.  G.  on  the  occasion  described  in  the  first  quotation 
above  (page  232).  He  informs  Professor  Porter  that  he  always 
keeps  his  eyes  open  under  water,  and  that  they  were  open  on 
that  occasion.  He  speaks  of  the  sun  shining  brightly. 


235 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0882] 


without  being  bewildered,  is  the  hardest  to  deal 
with,  and  threatens  even  to  upset  our  pretty  little 
theory.  The  only  reason  why  we  do  not  immedi- 
ately confess  that  it  does  so  is  the  suspicion  (always 
possible)  of  some  error  in  the  report,  which  a mi- 
nute personal  examination  wmuld  reveal.  I can 
therefore  only  hand  the  matter  over  to  those  with 
opportunities  for  investigation,  as  an  as  yet  un- 
solved mystery  upon  which  it  is  to  be  hoped  they 
may  throw  some  farther  light. 

A noteworthy  fact  (which  shall  be  immediately 
explained)  is  that  the  non-dizzy  patients  who  got 
bewildered  under  water  were  all  more  or  less  af- 
flicted with  ataxia  or  some  other  disorder  of  move- 
ment. A natural  explanation  of  their  trouble  would 
then  be  that  they  had  simply  lost  control  of  their 
limbs  for  swimming  movements.  This  may  be  true 
of  some : two  report  trouble  under  water  soon  after 
loss  of  hearing,  but  not  now,  the  ataxia  having 
meanwhile  improved.  But  the  ten  non-dizzy  who 
can  dive  happen  also  all  to  be  ataxic.  So  that 
ataxia  per  se  cannot  be  held  to  be  an  all-sufficient 
reason  for  the  phenomenon  in  question. 

The  reason  for  the  great  predominance  of  loco- 
motor disorders  in  the  persons  who  answered  my 
circulars  is  this : one  of  the  first  things  I discovered 
on  beginning  my  inquiries  was  the  fact,  notorious  at 
deaf  and  dumb  institutions  but  apparently  not 
much  known  to  the  outer  world,  that  large  numbers 
of  deaf-mutes  stagger  and  walk  zigzag,  especially 
after  dark,  and  are  unable  to  stand  steady  with 


236 


[1SS2]  the  sense  of  dizziness 


their  eyes  closed.  To  such  deaf-mutes  as  these  were 
most  of  my  circulars  purposely  sent.  I do  not  refer 
to  the  awkward  gait  and  shuffling  of  the  feet  which 
are  so  commonly  exhibited  at  asylums,1  but  to  a 
real  difficulty  in  controlling  their  equilibrium.  Con- 
genital deaf-mutes  appear  hardly  ever  to  show  this 
peculiarity.  I have  only  heard  of  two  or  three  cases 
of  their  doing  so.  The  bulk  of  those  that  stagger 
were  made  deaf  by  scarlet  fever  or  some  form  of 
meningeal  inflammation.  When  the  facts  first  be- 
gan to  come  in  I naturally  thought  that  the  stag- 
gering,2 which  usually  improves  in  course  of  time, 
might  be  due  to  the  loss  of  the  afferent  sense  most 
used  in  locomotor  muscular  co-ordination,  suppos- 
ing the  semicircular  canal  feelings  to  constitute 
this  afferent  sense.  In  the  preliminary  note  pub- 
lished in  the  Harvard  University  Bulletin , I wrote 
as  follows  : 

“The  evidence  I already  have  in  hand  justifies  the 
formation  of  a tentative  hypothesis,  as  follows : The 
normal  guiding  sensation  in  locomotion  is  that 
from  the  semicircular  canals.  This  is  co-ordinated 
in  the  cerebellum  (which  is  known  to  receive  audi- 

1Tliis  seems  little  more  than  a bad  habit  produced  by  two 
causes:  (1)  When  they  walk  with  each  other  their  eyes  are 
occupied  in  looking  at  each  other’s  fingers  and  faces,  and  cannot 
survey  the  ground  which  then  is,  as  it  were,  explored  by  the 
feet;  and  (2)  Their  deafness  makes  them  insensitive  to  the 
disagreeable  noise  that  their  feet  make. 

2 Moos,  quoted  by  McBride  (Edinburgh  Medical  Journal, 
February,  1882),  says  the  staggering  is  cured  in  twenty-seven 
months  after  cerebro-spinal  meningitis.  I find  it  to  have  often 
lasted  much  longer. 


237 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0882] 


tory  nerve  fibres ) with  the  appropriate  muscles,  and 
the  nervous  machinery  becomes  structurally  organ- 
ized in  the  first  few  years  of  life.  If,  then,  this 
guiding  sensation  be  suddenly  abolished  by  disease, 
the  machinery  is  thrown  completely  out  of  gear, 
and  must  form  closer  connections  than  before  either 
with  sight  or  touch.  But  the  cerebellar  tracts,  be- 
ing already  organized  in  another  way,  yield  but 
slowly  to  the  new  co-ordinations  now  required,  and 
for  many  years  make  the  patient’s  gait  uncertain, 
especially  in  the  dark.  Where  the  defect  of  the 
auditory  nerve  is  congenital  the  cerebellar  ma- 
chinery is  organized  from  the  very  outset  in  co-ordi- 
nation with  tactile  sensations,  and  no  difficulty  oc- 
curs. To  prove  this  hypothesis  a minute  medical 
examination  of  many  typical  cases  will  be  required. 
If  this  prove  confirmatory,  it  will  then  appear  prob- 
able that  many  of  the  so-called  paralyses  after  diph- 
theria, scarlet  fever,  etc.,  may  be  nothing  but  sudden 
ana^sthesise  of  the  semicircular  canals.” 

The  minute  medical  examination  I spoke  of,  I 
have  been  prevented  by  circumstances  from  making 
or  getting  made.  What  ought  to  be  done  would  be 
to  carefully  test  the  staggering  patients  for  such 
anmsthesise  of  the  body  or  limbs,  losses  of  tendon 
reflex,  and  various  locomotor  symptoms  of  ataxia, 
as  would  show  the  presence  of  central  nervous  dis- 
order independent  of  the  labyrinthine  trouble,  but 
joint  results  with  it  of  the  disease  that  left  the 
subject  deaf.  If  a certain  residuum  of  patients 
were  found  without  any  signs  of  such  nerve-central 


238 


[1882]  the  sense  of  dizziness 


disorder,  tlie  hypothesis  quoted  would  receive  cor- 
roboration. I must  confess,  however,  that  the  very 
large  number  of  staggering  and  zigzagging  deaf- 
mutes,  who  are  free  from  any  labyrinthine  lesion 
(as  evidenced  by  their  being  normal  as  respects 
dizziness),  and  whose  cases  have  been  made  known 
to  me  since  the  preliminary  report  was  written, 
make  it  seem  plausible  that  the  ataxic  disorders 
usually  flow  directly  from  lesions  of  the  locomotor 
centres,  sequelae  of  the  meningitis,  scarlet  fever,  or 
whatever  other  disease  the  patient  may  have  had. 
Whether  they  do  so  exclusively  cannot  now  be  de- 
cided. I know  of  no  more  interesting  problem  for 
a physician  with  good  opportunities  for  observa- 
tion to  solve,  than  that  of  the  relation  of  the  semi- 
circular canal  sense  to  our  ordinary  locomotor  in- 
nervation. And  certainly  fresh  cases  of  deafness 
coupled  with  loss  of  sensibility  to  rotation  seem  the 
most  favorable  field  of  study. 

It  has  been  suggested,  I no  longer  know  by  whom, 
that  the  mysterious  topographic  instinct  which 
some  animals  and  certain  classes  of  men  possess, 
and  which  keeps  them  continuously  informed  of 
their  “bearings,”  of  which  way  they  are  heading, 
of  the  “lay  of  the  land,”  etc.,  might  be  due  to  a kind 
of  unconscious  dead  reckoning  of  the  algebraic  sum 
of  all  the  angles  through  which  they  had  twisted 
and  turned  in  the  course  of  their  journey.  If  the 
semicircular  canals  are  the  organs  of  sensibility  for 
angular  rotation,  the  abolition  of  their  function 
ought  to  injure  the  topographic  faculty.  I accord- 


239 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0882] 


ingly  asked  in  my  circular  the  question:  “Have 
you  a good  bump  of  locality?”  A rather  stupidly 
expressed  phrase,  but  one  which  I supposed  would 
be  popularly  intelligible.  Forty-seven  persons,  not 
dizzy,  or  scarcely  dizzy,  answered  this  question  dis- 
tinctly, forty  with  a “yes,”  and  seven  with  a “no.” 
So  that  in  this  (truly  vague  enough)  matter,  my  in- 
quiries give  no  countenance  to  the  suggestion  al- 
luded to.1 

“Dizziness”  on  high  places  was  also  made  the  sub- 
ject of  one  of  my  questions.  This  feeling,  in  those 
who  experience  it  normally,  is  a compound  of  vari- 
ous muscular,  cutaneous,  and  visceral  sensations 
with  vertigo ; and  of  course  the  answers  of  my  corre- 
spondents, not  being  of  an  analytical  sort,  would  be 
of  very  little  value,  even  were  they  much  more  nu- 
merous than  they  are.  They  stand  as  follows: 
“Are  you  dizzy  on  high  places?” 

Of  those  not  or  scarcely  dizzy  on  whirling,  sixteen 
say  “yes,”  twenty-nine  “no.” 

Of  those  dizzy  on  whirling,  twenty-nine  say  “yes,” 
and  fourteen  “no.” 

Taken  in  their  crudity  these  answers  suggest  the 
bare  possibility  that  anaesthesia  of  the  semicircular 

1 In  a long  and  interesting  article  in  the  Revue  Philosophique 
for  July,  1882  (“le  Sens  de  l’Orientation  et  ses  OrganeS”), 
M.  C.  Viguier  maintains  the  view  that  the  semicircular  canals 
are  organs  in  whose  endolymph  terrestrial  magnetism  deter- 
mines induced  currents  which  vary  with  the  position  of  the 
canals,  and  (apparently)  enable  the  animal  to  recognize  a lost 
direction  as  soon  as  he  finds  it  again.  Clever  and  learned  as 
are  M.  Viguier's  arguments,  I confess  they  fail  to  awaken  in  me 
any  conviction  that  their  thesis  is  true. 


240 


[1882]  the  sense  of  dizziness 


canals  may  confer  some  little  immunity  from  that 
particularly  distressing  form  of  imaginative  weak- 
ness. The  centres  of  imagination  of  falling  may 
grow  weak  with  the  disuse  of  the  sense  for  falling, 
and  the  various  reflex  results  ( feelings  in  the  calves, 
hypogastrium,  skin,  respiratory  apparatus,  etc.), 
which  help  to  constitute  the  massive  feeling  of 
dread,  not  following  upon  the  sight  of  the  abyss,  as 
they  normally  should  do,  the  subject  may  remain 
cool-headed,  when  in  former  times  he  would  have 
been  convulsed  with  emotion. 

One  more  point,  of  perhaps  greater  interest.  The 
following  letter  from  Dr.  Beard  of  New  York  speaks 
for  itself : 


New  York,  July  2,  1881. 

Dear  Dr.  James, — Acting  upon  your  suggestion,  I 
have  succeeded  in  abolishing  the  sense  of  vertigo  in  my 
trance  subjects.  I have  accomplished  this  in  two 
ways.  First,  by  means  of  the  swing  which  you  have 
used  in  your  experiments.  I find  that  persons  when 
put  into  trance  sleep  and  placed  in  a swing  which  is 
twisted  up  tightly,  so  that  it  untwists  rapidly,  and  for 
a considerable  time,  feel  no  dizziness  or  nausea,  but 
when  brought  out  of  the  trance,  at  once  walk  away 
without  the  least  difficulty. 

I find — as  you  did — that  the  great  majority  of  indi- 
viduals cannot  in  the  normal  state  do  this;  but  are 
made  very  dizzy  and  sick,  and  sometimes  even  fall  out 
of  the  swing. 

Secondly,  by  having  the  subject  look  at  some  limited 
space  on  the  ceiling,  holding  his  head  up,  and  turning 
around  rapidly  four  or  five  times.  Scarcely  any  one 
can  do  this,  in  the  normal  condition,  and  walk  off 


241 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0882] 


straight.  They  will  stagger,  as  though  intoxicated  or 
suffering  from  ataxia.  These  trance  subjects,  when  put 
into  that  condition  with  their  eyes  open,  can  go  through 
this  test,  and  immediately  walk  off  without  any  diffi- 
culty whatever. 

These  experiments — I may  say — have  been  witnessed 
by  a large  number  of  physicians  in  this  city,  and  have 
been  confirmed  independently  by  some  of  them.  There 
is  no  difficulty  in  confirming  these  experiments,  when 
you  have  trained  subjects  to  cooperate  with  you. 

I regard  these  experiments  as  of  a demonstrative 
character;  that  is,  as  belonging  to  the  class  of  experi- 
ments that  prove  the  genuineness  of  the  trance  phenom- 
ena, since  there  are  very  few  indeed  who  can  simulate 
them. 

I have  no  doubt  whatever  that  seasickness  could  be 
cured  entirely  by  putting  persons  into  trance. 

Yours,  truly, 

George  M.  Beard. 

Finally  (to  wring  the  last  drop  from  an  inquiry 
which,  however  slender  may  be  its  basis  of  fact,  will 
be  accused  by  no  one  of  not  having  had  the  maxi- 
mum possible  number  of  theoretic  conclusions  ex- 
tracted from  it!),  I will  subjoin  the  following  ex- 
tract from  one  of  my  correspondents’  letters  as  a 
crumb  for  vivisectional  physiologists  to  whom  the 
fact  narrated  may  be  unknown: 

“If  a dog  grows  up  and  his  tail  is  cut  off  suddenly,  he 
staggers  so  badly  he  cannot  cross  a foot  log.”1 

To  all  my  correspondents  I owe  thanks  for  the 
facts  imparted  in  this  paper.  Without  the  most 

1 Experiment  made  by  a preacher  in  East  Tennessee,  a friend 
of  the  writer. 


242 


[1882]  the  sense  of  dizziness 


painstaking  co-operation  of  Prof.  Samuel  Porter,  in 
particular,  it  could  hardly  have  been  written.  To 
Principal  Williams  of  the  Hartford  School,  Miss 
Fuller  of  the  Boston  School,  and  Miss  Bogers,  of 
Northampton,  my  best  thanks  are  also  due.  Dr. 
J.  J.  Putnam  has  assisted  me  with  counsel  and  aid 
in  the  galvanic  observations.  Dr.  Clarence  J.  Blake 
examined  the  condition  of  the  ears  of  the  Northamp- 
ton children,  but  not  being  able  to  deduce  any  con- 
clusions relevant  to  my  own  inquiry  from  his  ob- 
servations, I leave  them  unrecorded  here. 


243 


XY 


WIIAT  IS  AN  EMOTION?1 

[1884] 

The  physiologists  who,  during  the  past  few  years, 
have  been  so  industriously  exploring  the  functions 
of  the  brain,  have  limited  their  attempts  at  explana- 
tion to  its  cognitive  and  volitional  performances. 
Dividing  the  brain  into  sensorial  and  motor  centres, 
they  have  found  their  division  to  be  exactly  par- 
alleled by  the  analysis  made  by  empirical  psychol- 
ogy, of  the  perceptive  and  volitional  parts  of  the 
mind  into  their  simplest  elements.  But  the  cesthetic 
sphere  of  the  mind,  its  longings,  its  pleasures  and 

[‘Reprinted  from  Mind,  1884,  9,  188-205.  This  is  James’s 
original  statement  of  'the  famous  “James-Lange”  theory  of  the 
emotions,  made  before  James  was  acquainted  with  Lange’s 
views.  It  is  the  article  to  which  the  author  refers  in  the  Princi- 
ples of  Psychology  (1890)  as  follows:  “Now  the  general  causes 
of  the  emotions  are  indubitably  physiological.  Prof.  C.  Lange  of 
Copenhagen,  in  a pamphlet  from  which  I have  already  quoted 
(ibid.),  published  in  1885  a physiological  theory  of  their  con- 
stitution and  conditioning,  which  I had  already  broached  the 
previous  year  in  an  article  in  Mind ” (Vol.  II.,  p.  449).  Most  of 
the  article  is  reprinted  in  the  Principles  (1890),  Chap.  XXV., 
but  in  scattered  paragraphs.  The  treatment  is  there  reorganized 
and  greatly  amplified,  by  the  introduction,  for  example,  of 
pathological  material.  Of  the  present  article,  the  accounts  of 
expressive  reflexes  (pp.  248-252)  ; of  the  association  of  inherited 
emotional  expressions  with  conventional  stimuli  (pp.  256-258)  ; 
of  the  example  from  Bracliet  (p.  265)  ; of  the  evidence  from 
anaesthesia  (p.  271)  ; and  of  his  correspondence  with  Striimpell 
(pp.  272-275) — appear  not  to  have  been  reprinted.  Ed.) 


244 


[1884] 


WHAT  IS  AN  EMOTION? 


pains,  and  its  emotions,  have  been  so  ignored  in  all 
these  researches  that  one  is  tempted  to  suppose 
that  if  either  Dr.  Ferrier  or  Dr.  Munk  were  asked 
for  a theory  in  brain-terms  of  the  latter  mental 
facts,  they  might  both  reply,  either  that  they  had 
as  yet  bestowed  no  thought  upon  the  subject,  or 
that  they  had  found  it  so  difficult  to  make  distinct 
hypotheses,  that  the  matter  lay  for  them  among  the 
problems  of  the  future,  only  to  be  taken  up  after 
the  simpler  ones  of  the  present  should  have  been 
definitively  solved. 

And  yet  it  is  even  now  certain  that  of  two  things 
concerning  the  emotions,  one  must  be  true.  Either 
separate  and  special  centres,  affected  to  them  alone, 
are  their  brain-seat,  or  else  they  correspond  to  proc- 
esses occurring  in  the  motor  and  sensory  centres, 
already  assigned,  or  in  others  like  them,  not  yet 
mapped  out.  If  the  former  be  the  case  we  must 
deny  the  current  view,  and  hold  the  cortex  to  be 
something  more  than  the  surface  of  “projection” 
for  every  sensitive  spot  and  every  muscle  in  the 
body.  If  the  latter  be  the  case,  we  must  ask  whether 
the  emotional  “process”  in  the  sensory  or  motor 
centre  be  an  altogether  peculiar  one,  or  whether 
it  resembles  the  ordinary  perceptive  processes  of 
which  those  centres  are  already  recognised  to  be 
the  seat.  The  purpose  of  the  following  pages  is  to 
show  that  the  last  alternative  comes  nearest  to  the 
truth,  and  that  the  emotional  brain-processes  not 
only  resemble  the  ordinary  censorial  brain-proc- 
esses, but  in  very  truth  are  nothing  but  such 


245 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  t1884l 


processes  variously  combined.  The  main  result  of 
this  will  be  to  simplify  our  notions  of  the  possible 
complications  of  brain-physiology,  and  to  make  us 
see  that  we  have  already  a brain-scheme  in  our 
hands  whose  applications  are  much  wider  than  its 
authors  dreamed.  But  although  this  seems  to  be 
the  chief  result  of  the  arguments  I am  to  urge,  I 
should  say  that  they  were  not  originally  framed  for 
the  sake  of  any  such  result.  They  grew  out  of  frag- 
mentary introspective  observations,  and  it  was  only 
when  these  had  already  combined  into  a theory  that 
the  thought  of  the  simplification  the  theory  might 
bring  to  cerebral  physiology  occurred  to  me,  and 
made  it  seem  more  important  than  before. 

I should  say  first  of  all  that  the  only  emotions 
I propose  expressly  to  consider  here  are  those  that 
have  a distinct  bodily  expression.  That  there  are 
feelings  of  pleasure  and  displeasure,  of  interest  and 
excitement,  bound  up  with  mental  operations,  but 
having  no  obvious  bodily  expression  for  their  conse- 
quence, would,  I suppose,  be  held  true  by  most  read- 
ers. Certain  arrangements  of  sounds,  of  lines,  of 
colours,  are  agreeable,  and  others  the  reverse,  with- 
out the  degree  of  the  feeling  being  sufficient  to 
quicken  the  pulse  or  breathing,  or  to  prompt  to 
movements  of  either  the  body  or  the  face.  Certain 
sequences  of  ideas  charm  us  as  much  as  others  tire 
us.  It  is  a real  intellectual  delight  to  get  a prob- 
lem solved,  and  a real  intellectual  torment  to  have 
to  leave  it  unfinished.  The  first  set  of  examples,  the 
sounds,  lines,  and  colours,  are  either  bodily  sensa- 


246 


[1884] 


WHAT  IS  AN  EMOTION? 


tions,  or  the  images  of  such.  The  second  set  seem  to 
depend  on  processes  in  the  ideational  centres  ex- 
clusively. Taken  together,  they  appear  to  prove 
that  there  are  pleasures  and  pains  inherent  in  cer- 
tain forms  of  nerve-action  as  such,  wherever  that 
action  occur.  The  case  of  these  feelings  we  will  at 
present  leave  entirely  aside,  and  confine  our  atten- 
tion to  the  more  complicated  cases  in  which  a wave 
of  bodily  disturbance  of  some  kind  accompanies  the 
perception  of  the  interesting  sights  or  sounds,  or  the 
passage  of  the  exciting  train  of  ideas.  Surprise, 
curiosity,  rapture,  fear,  anger,  lust,  greed,  and  the 
like,  become  then  the  names  of  the  mental  states 
with  which  the  person  is  possessed.  The  bodily  dis- 
turbances are  said  to  be  the  “manifestation”  of  these 
several  emotions,  their  “expression”  or  “natural 
language” ; and  these  emotions  themselves,  being  so 
strongly  characterized  both  from  within  and  with- 
out, may  be  called  the  standard  emotions. 

Our  natural  way  of  thinking  about  these  standard 
emotions  is  that  the  mental  perception  of  some  fact 
excites  the  mental  affection  called  the  emotion,  and 
that  this  latter  state  of  mind  gives  rise  to  the  bodily 
expression.  My  thesis  on  the  contrary  is  that  the 
bodily  changes  follow  directly  the  perception  of 
the  exciting  fact , and  that  our  feeling  of  the  same 
changes  as  they  occur  is  the  emotion.  Common  sense 
says,  we  lose  our  fortune,  are  sorry  and  weep;  we 
meet  a bear,  are  frightened  and  run ; we  are  insulted 
by  a rival,  are  angry  and  strike.  The  hypothesis 
here  to  be  defended  says  that  this  order  of  sequence 


247 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0884] 


is  incorrect,  that  the  one  mental  state  is  not  immedi- 
ately induced  by  the  other,  that  the  bodily  mani- 
festations must  first  be  interposed  between,  and  that 
the  more  rational  statement  is  that  we  feel  sorry 
because  we  cry,  angry  because  we  strike,  afraid  be- 
cause we  tremble,  and  not  that  we  cry,  strike,  or 
tremble,  because  we  are  sorry,  angry,  or  fearful,  as 
the  case  may  be.  Without  the  bodily  states  follow- 
ing on  the  perception,  the  latter  would  be  purely 
cognitive  in  form,  pale,  colourless,  destitute  of  emo- 
tional warmth.  We  might  then  see  the  bear,  and 
judge  it  best  to  run,  receive  the  insult  and  deem  it 
right  to  strike,  but  we  could  not  actually  feel  afraid 
or  angry. 

Stated  in  this  crude  way,  the  hypothesis  is  pretty 
sure  to  meet  with  immediate  disbelief.  And  yet 
neither  many  nor  far-fetched  considerations  are  re- 
quired to  mitigate  its  paradoxical  character,  and 
possibly  to  produce  conviction  of  its  truth. 

To  begin  with,  readers  of  this  Journal  do  not 
need  to  be  reminded  that  the  nervous  system  of 
every  living  thing  is  but  a bundle  of  predispositions 
to  react  in  particular  ways  upon  the  contact  of  par- 
ticular features  of  the  environment.  As  surely  as 
the  hermit-crab’s  abdomen  presupposes  the  existence 
of  empty  whelk-shells  somewhere  to  be  found,  so 
surely  do  the  hound’s  olfactories  imply  the  ex- 
istence, on  the  one  hand,  of  deer’s  or  foxes’  feet,  and 
on  the  other,  the  tendency  to  follow  up  their  tracks. 
The  neural  machinery  is  but  a hyphen  between  de- 
terminate arrangements  of  matter  outside  the  body 


248 


[1884] 


WHAT  IS  AN  EMOTION? 


and  determinate  impulses  to  inhibition  or  discharge 
within  its  organs.  When  the  hen  sees  a white  oval 
object  on  the  ground,  she  cannot  leave  it;  she  must 
keep  upon  it  and  return  to  it,  until  at  last  its 
transformation  into  a little  mass  of  moving  chirping 
down  elicits  from  her  machinery  an  entirely  new  set 
of  performances.  The  love  of  man  for  woman,  or 
of  the  human  mother  for  her  babe,  our  wrath  at 
snakes  and  our  fear  of  precipices,  may  all  be  de- 
scribed similarly,  as  instances  of  the  way  in  which 
peculiarly  conformed  pieces  of  the  world’s  furni- 
ture will  fatally  call  forth  most  particular  mental 
and  bodily  reactions,  in  advance  of,  and  often  in 
direct  opposition  to,  the  verdict  of  our  deliberate 
reason  concerning  them.  The  labours  of  Darwin 
and  his  successors  are  only  just  beginning  to  reveal 
the  universal  parasitism  of  each  special  creature 
upon  other  special  things,  and  the  way  in  which 
each  creature  brings  the  signature  of  its  special 
relations  stamped  on  its  nervous  system  with  it 
upon  the  scene. 

Every  living  creature  is  in  fact  a sort  of  lock, 
whose  wards  and  springs  presuppose  special  forms 
of  key, — which  keys  however  are  not  born  attached 
to  the  locks,  but  are  sure  to  be  found  in  the  world 
near  by  as  life  goes  on.  And  the  locks  are  indiffer- 
ent to  any  but  their  own  keys.  The  egg  fails  to 
fascinate  the  hound,  the  bird  does  not  fear  the  preci- 
pice, the  snake  waxes  not  wroth  at  his  kind,  the 
deer  cares  nothing  for  the  woman  or  the  human 
babe.  Those  who  wish  for  a full  development  of 


249 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1884] 


this  point  of  view,  should  read  Schneider’s  Der 
thierische  Wille, — no  other  book  shows  how  accu- 
rately anticipatory  are  the  actions  of  animals,  of  the 
specific  features  of  the  environment  in  which  they 
are  to  live. 

Now  among  these  nervous  anticipations  are  of 
course  to  be  reckoned  the  emotions,  so  far  as  these 
may  be  called  forth  directly  by  the  perception  of 
certain  facts.  In  advance  of  all  experience  of  ele- 
phants no  child  can  but  be  frightened  if  he  sud- 
denly find  one  trumpeting  and  charging  upon  him. 
No  woman  can  see  a handsome  little  naked  baby 
without  delight,  no  man  in  the  wilderness  see  a 
human  form  in  the  distance  without  excitement  and 
curiosity.  I said  I should  consider  these  emotions 
only  so  far  as  they  have  bodily  movements  of  some 
sort  for  their  accompaniments.  But  my  first  point 
is  to  show  that  their  bodily  accompaniments  are 
much  more  far-reaching  and  complicated  than  we 
ordinarily  suppose. 

In  the  earlier  books  on  Expression,  written 
mostly  from  the  artistic  point  of  view,  the  signs  of 
emotion  visible  from  without  were  the  only  ones 
taken  account  of.  Sir  Charles  Bell’s  celebrated 
Anatomy  of  Expression  noticed  the  respiratory 
changes;  and  Bain’s  and  Darwin’s  treatises  went 
more  thoroughly  still  into  the  study  of  the  visceral 
factors  involved, — changes  in  the  functioning  of 
glands  and  muscles,  and  in  that  of  the  circulatory 
apparatus.  But  not  even  a Darwin  has  exhaus- 
tively enumerated  all  the  bodily  affections  charac- 


250 


[1884] 


WHAT  IS  AN  EMOTION? 


teristic  of  any  one  of  the  standard  emotions.  More 
and  more,  as  physiology  advances,  we  begin  to  dis- 
cern how  almost  infinitely  numerous  and  subtle 
they  must  be.  The  researches  of  Mosso  with  the 
plethysmograph  have  shown  that  not  only  the  heart, 
but  the  entire  circulatory  system,  forms  a sort  of 
sounding-board,  which  every  change  of  our  con- 
sciousness, however  slight,  may  make  reverberate. 
Hardly  a sensation  comes  to  us  without  sending 
waves  of  alternate  constriction  and  dilatation 
down  the  arteries  of  our  arms.  The  blood-vessels  of 
the  abdomen  act  reciprocally  with  those  of  the  more 
outward  parts.  The  bladder  and  bowels,  the  glands 
of  the  mouth,  throat,  and  skin,  and  the  liver,  are 
known  to  be  affected  gravely  in  certain  severe  emo- 
tions, and  are  unquestionably  affected  transiently 
when  the  emotions  are  of  a lighter  sort.  That  the 
heart-beats  and  the  rhythm  of  breathing  play  a lead- 
ing part  in  all  emotions  whatsoever,  is  a matter  too 
notorious  for  proof.  And  what  is  really  equally 
prominent,  but  less  likely  to  be  admitted  until 
special  attention  is  drawn  to  the  fact,  is  the  con- 
tinuous co-operation  of  the  voluntary  muscles  in 
our  emotional  states.  Even  when  no  change  of 
outward  attitude  is  produced,  their  inward  tension 
alters  to  suit  each  varying  mood,  and  is  felt  as  a dif- 
ference of  tone  or  of  strain.  In  depression  the 
flexors  tend  to  prevail ; in  elation  or  belligerent  ex- 
citement the  extensors  take  the  lead.  And  the  vari- 
ous permutations  and  combinations  of  which  these 
organic  activities  are  susceptible,  make  it  abstractly 


251 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0884] 


possible  that  no  shade  of  emotion,  however  slight, 
should  be  without  a bodily  reverberation  as  unique, 
when  taken  in  its  totality,  as  is  the  mental  mood 
itself. 

The  immense  number  of  parts  modified  in  each 
emotion  is  what  makes  it  so  difficult  for  us  to  repro- 
duce in  cold  blood  the  total  and  integral  expression 
of  any  one  of  them.  We  may  catch  the  trick  with 
the  voluntary  muscles,  but  fail  with  the  skin, 
glands,  heart,  and  other  viscera.  Just  as  an  arti- 
ficially imitated  sneeze  lacks  something  of  the 
reality,  so  the  attempt  to  imitate  an  emotion  in  the 
absence  of  its  normal  instigating  cause  is  apt  to  be 
rather  “hollow.” 

The  next  thing  to  be  noticed  is  this,  that  every 
one  of  the  bodily  changes,  whatsoever  it  be,  is  felt , 
acutely  or  obscurely,  the  moment  it  occurs.  If  the 
reader  has  never  paid  attention  to  this  matter,  he 
will  be  both  interested  and  astonished  to  learn  how 
many  different  local  bodily  feelings  he  can  detect 
in  himself  as  characteristic  of  his  various  emotional 
moods.  It  would  be  perhaps  too  much  to  expect 
him  to  arrest  the  tide  of  any  strong  gust  of  passion 
for  the  sake  of  any  such  curious  analysis  as  this; 
but  he  can  observe  more  tranquil  states,  and  that 
may  be  assumed  here  to  be  true  of  the  greater  which 
is  shown  to  be  true  of  the  less.  Our  whole  cubic 
capacity  is  sensibly  alive ; and  each  morsel  of  it  con- 
tributes its  pulsations  of  feeling,  dim  or  sharp, 
pleasant,  painful,  or  dubious,  to  that  sense  of  per- 
sonality that  every  one  of  us  unfailingly  carries 


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WHAT  IS  AN  EMOTION? 


with  him.  It  is  surprising  what  little  items  give 
accent  to  these  complexes  of  sensibility.  When 
worried  by  any  slight  trouble^  one  may  find  that  the 
focus  of  one’s  bodily  consciousness  is  the  contrac- 
tion, often  quite  inconsiderable,  of  the  eyes  and 
brows.  When  momentarily  embarrassed,  it  is  some- 
thing in  the  pharynx  that  compels  either  a swallow, 
a clearing  of  the  throat,  or  a slight  cough ; and  so  on 
for  as  many  more  instances  as  might  be  named. 
Our  concern  here  being  with  the  general  view  rather 
than  with  the  details,  I will  not  linger  to  discuss 
these  but,  assuming  the  point  admitted  that  every 
change  that  occurs  must  be  felt,  I will  pass  on.1 

I now  proceed  to  urge  the  vital  point  of  my  whole 
theory,  which  is  this.  If  we  fancy  some  strong  emo- 
tion, and  then  try  to  abstract  from  our  conscious- 
ness of  it  all  the  feelings  of  its  characteristic  bodily 
symptoms,  we  find  we  have  nothing  left  behind,  no 
“mind-stuff”  out  of  which  the  emotion  can  be  con- 
stituted, and  that  a cold  and  neutral  state  of  intel- 


1 Of  course  the  physiological  question  arises,  how  are  the 
changes  felt? — after  they  are  produced,  by  the  sensory  nerves 
of  the  organs  bringing  back  to  the  brain  a report  of  the  modifi- 
cations that  have  occurred?  or  before  they  are  produced,  by  our 
being  conscious  of  the  outgoing  nerve-currents  starting  on  their 
way  downward  towards  the  parts  they  are  to  excite?  I believe 
all  the  evidence  we  have  to  be  in  favour  of  the  former  alter- 
native. The  question  is  too  minute  for  discussion  here,  but 
I have  said  something  about  it  in  a paper  entitled  “The  Feeling 
of  Effort,”  in  the  Anniversary  Memoirs  of  the  Boston  Natural 
History  Society,  1880  (translated  in  La  Critique  Philosophique 
for  that  year,  and  summarized  in  Mind  XX.  [1880],  582).  [See 
above,  p.  151.  Ed.]  See  also  G.  E.  Muller’s  Brundlegung  der 
Psychophysik,  § 110. 


253 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  KEVIEWS  £1884] 


lectual  perception  is  all  that  remains.  It  is  true, 
that  although  most  people,  when  asked,  say  that 
their  introspection  verifies  this  statement,  some  per- 
sist in  saying  theirs  does  not.  Many  cannot  be  made 
to  understand  the  question.  When  you  beg  them  to 
imagine  away  every  feeling  of  laughter  and  of 
tendency  to  laugh  from  their  consciousness  of  the 
ludicrousness  of  an  object,  and  then  to  tell  you 
what  the  feeling  of  its  ludicrousness  would  be  like, 
whether  it  be  anything  more  than  the  perception 
that  the  object  belongs  to  the  class  “funny,”  they 
persist  in  replying  that  the  thing  proposed  is  a 
physical  impossibility,  and  that  they  always  must 
laugh,  if  they  see  a funny  object.  Of  course  the  task 
proposed  is  not  the  practical  one  of  seeing  a ludic- 
rous object  and  annihilating  one’s  tendency  to 
laugh.  It  is  the  purely  speculative  one  of  subtract- 
ing certain  elements  of  feeling  from  an  emotional 
state  supposed  to  exist  in  its  fulness,  and  saying 
what  the  residual  elements  are.  I cannot  help 
thinking  that  all  who  rightly  apprehend  this  prob- 
lem will  agree  with  the  proposition  above  laid 
down.  What  kind  of  an  emotion  of  fear  would  be 
left,  if  the  feelings  neither  of  quickened  heart-beats 
nor  of  shallow  breathing,  neither  of  trembling  lips 
nor  of  weakened  limbs,  neither  of  goose-flesh  nor  of 
visceral  stirrings,  were  present,  it  is  quite  impos- 
sible to  think.  Can  one  fancy  the  state  of  rage  and 
picture  no  ebullition  of  it  in  the  chest,  no  flushing 
of  the  face,  no  dilatation  of  the  nostrils,  no  clench- 
ing of  the  teeth,  no  impulse  to  vigorous  action,  but 


254 


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WHAT  IS  AN  EMOTION? 


in  their  stead  limp  muscles,  calm  breathing,  and  a 
placid  face?  The  present  writer,  for  one,  certainly 
cannot.  The  rage  is  as  completely  evaporated  as 
the  sensation  of  its  so-called  manifestations,  and  the 
only  thing  that  can  possibly  be  supposed  to  take  its 
place  is  some  cold-blooded  and  dispassionate  judi- 
cial sentence,  confined  entirely  to  the  intellectual 
realm,  to  the  effect  that  a certain  person  or  persons 
merit  chastisement  for  their  sins.  In  like  manner 
of  grief : what  would  it  be  without  its  tears,  its  sobs, 
its  suffocation  of  the  heart,  its  pang  in  the  breast- 
bone? A feelingless  cognition  that  certain  circum- 
stances are  deplorable,  and  nothing  more.  Every 
passion  in  turn  tells  the  same  story.  A purely  dis- 
embodied human  emotion  is  a nonentity.  I do  not 
say  that  it  is  a contradiction  in  the  nature  of  things ; 
or  that  pure  spirits  are  necessarily  condemned  to 
cold  intellectual  lives ; but  I say  that  for  us,  emotion 
dissociated  from  all  bodily  feeling  is  inconceivable. 
The  more  closely  I scrutinise  my  states,  the  more 
persuaded  I become,  that  whatever  moods,  affec- 
tions, and  passions  I have,  are  in  very  truth  consti- 
tuted by,  and  made  up  of,  those  bodily  changes  we 
' ordinarily  call  their  expression  or  consequence ; and 
the  more  it  seems  to  me  that  if  I were  to  become 
corporeally  anaesthetic,  I should  be  excluded  from 
the  life  of  the  affections,  harsh  and  tender  alike,  and 
drag  out  an  existence  of  merely  cognitive  or  intel- 
lectual form.  Such  an  existence,  although  it  seems 
to  have  been  the  ideal  of  ancient  sages,  is  too  apa- 
thetic to  be  keenly  sought  after  by  those  born  after 


255 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0884] 


the  revival  of  the  worship  of  sensibility,  a few  gen- 
erations ago. 

But  if  the  emotion  is  nothing  but  the  feeling  of 
the  reflex  bodily  effects  of  what  we  call  its  “object,” 
effects  due  to  the  connate  adaptation  of  the  nervous 
system  to  that  object,  we  seem  immediately  faced  by 
this  objection : most  of  the  objects  of  civilised  men’s 
emotions  are  things  to  which  it  would  be  preposter- 
ous to  suppose  their  nervous  systems  connately 
adapted.  Most  occasions  of  shame  and  many  insults 
are  purely  conventional,  and  vary  with  the  social 
environment.  The  same  is  true  of  many  matters  of 
dread  and  of  desire,  and  of  many  occasions  of  mel- 
ancholy and  regret.  In  these  cases,  at  least,  it 
would  seem  that  the  ideas  of  shame,  desire,  regret, 
etc.,  must  first  have  been  attached  by  education  and 
association  to  these  conventional  objects  before  the 
bodily  changes  could  possibly  be  awakened.  And 
if,  in  these  cases  the  bodily  changes  follow  the  ideas, 
instead  of  giving  rise  to  them,  why  not  then  in  all 
cases? 

To  discuss  thoroughly  this  objection  would  carry 
us  deep  into  the  study  of  purely  intellectual 
^Esthetics.  A few  words  must  here  suffice.  We  will 
say  nothing  of  the  argument’s  failure  to  distinguish 
between  the  idea  of  an  emotion  and  the  emotion 
itself.  We  will  only  recall  the  well-known  evolu- 
tionary principle  that  when  a certain  power  has 
once  been  fixed  in  an  animal  by  virtue  of  its  utility 
in  presence  of  certain  features  of  the  environment, 
it  may  turn  out  to  be  useful  in  presence  of  other 


256 


[1884] 


WHAT  IS  AN  EMOTION? 


features  of  the  environment  that  had  originally 
nothing  to  do  with  either  producing  or  preserving 
it.  A nervous  tendency  to  discharge  being  once 
there,  all  sorts  of  unforeseen  things  may  pull  the 
trigger  and  let  loose  the  effects.  That  among  these 
things  should  be  conventionalities  of  man’s  contriv- 
ing is  a matter  of  no  psychological  consequence 
whatever.  The  most  important  part  of  my  environ- 
ment is  my  fellow-man.  The  consciousness  of  his 
attitude  towards  me  is  the  perception  that  normally 
unlocks  most  of  my  shames  and  indignations  and 
fears.  The  extraordinary  sensitiveness  of  this  con- 
sciousness is  shown  by  the  bodily  modifications 
wrought  in  us  by  the  awareness  that  our  fellow- 
man  is  noticing  us  at  all.  No  one  can  walk  across 
the  platform  at  a public  meeting  with  just  the  same 
muscular  innervation  he  uses  to  walk  across  his 
room  at  home.  No  one  can  give  a message  to  such  a 
meeting  without  organic  excitement.  “Stage- 
fright”  is  only  the  extreme  degree  of  that  wholly 
irrational  personal  self-consciousness  which  every 
one  gets  in  some  measure,  as  soon  as  he  feels  the 
eyes  of  a number  of  strangers  fixed  upon  him,  even 
though  he  be  inwardly  convinced  that  their  feeling 
towards  him  is  of  no  practical  account.1  This 
being  so,  it  is  not  surprising  that  the  additional  per- 

JLet  it  be  noted  in  passing  that  this  personal  self-conscious- 
ness seems  an  altogether  bodily  affair,  largely  a consciousness 
of  our  attitude,  and  that,  like  other  emotions,  it  reacts  on  its 
physical  condition,  and  leads  to  modifications  of  the  attitude, — 
to  a certain  rigidity  in  most  men,  but  in  children  to  a regular 
twisting  and  squirming  fit,  and  in  women  to  various  grace- 
fully shy  poses. 


257 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0884] 


suasion  that  my  fellow-man’s  attitude  means  either 
well  or  ill  for  me,  should  awaken  stronger  emotions 
still.  In  primitive  societies  “Well”  may  mean  hand- 
ing me  a piece  of  beef,  and  “111”  may  mean  aiming  a 
blow  at  my  skull.  In  our  “cultured  age,”  “111”  may 
mean  cutting  me  in  the  street,  and  “Well,”  giving 
me  an  honorary  degree.  What  the  action  itself  may 
be  is  quite  insignificant,  so  long  as  I can  perceive  in 
it  intent  or  animus.  That  is  the  emotion-arousing 
perception;  and  may  give  rise  to  as  strong  bodily 
convulsions  in  me,  a civilised  man  experiencing  the 
treatment  of  an  artificial  society,  as  in  any  savage 
prisoner  of  war,  learning  whether  his  captors  are 
about  to  eat  him  or  to  make  him  a member  of  their 
tribe. 

But  now,  this  gbjection  disposed  of,  there  arises  a 
more  general  doubt.  Is  there  any  evidence,  it  may 
be  asked,  for  the  assumption  that  particular  percep- 
tions do  produce  widespread  bodily  effects  by  a sort 
of  immediate  physical  influence,  antecedent  to  the 
arousal  of  an  emotion  or  emotional  idea? 

The  only  possible  reply  is,  that  there  is  most 
assuredly  such  evidence.  In  listening  to  poetry, 
drama,  or  heroic  narrative,  we  are  often  surprised 
at  the  cutaneous  shiver  which  like  a sudden  wave 
flows  over  us,  and  at  the  heart-swelling  and  the 
lachrymal  effusion  that  unexpectedly  catch  us  at 
intervals.  In  listening  to  music,  the  same  is  even 
more  strikingly  true.  If  we  abruptly  see  a dark 
moving  form  in  the  woods,  our  heart  stops  beating, 
and  we  catch  our  breath  instantly  and  before  any 


258 


[1884] 


WHAT  IS  AN  EMOTION? 


articulate  idea  of  danger  can  arise.  If  our  friend 
goes  near  to  the  edge  of  a precipice,  we  get  the  well- 
known  feeling  of  “all-overishness,”  and  we  shrink 
back,  although  we  positively  know  him  to  be  safe, 
and  have  no  distinct  imagination  of  his  fall.  The 
writer  well  remembers  his  astonishment,  when  a boy 
of  seven  or  eight,  at  fainting  when  he  saw  a horse 
bled.  The  blood  was  in  a bucket,  with  a stick  in  it, 
and,  if  memory  does  not  deceive  him,  he  stirred  it 
round  and  saw  it  drip  from  the  stick  with  no  feeling 
save  that  of  childish  curiosity.  Suddenly  the  wrorld 
grew  black  before  his  eyes,  his  ears  began  to  buzz, 
and  he  knew  no  more.  He  had  never  heard  of  the 
sight  of  blood  producing  faintness  or  sickness,  and 
he  had  so  little  repugnance  to  it,  and  so  little  ap- 
prehension of  any  other  sort  of  danger  from  it,  that 
even  at  that  tender  age,  as  he  well  remembers,  he 
could  not  help  wondering  how  the  mere  physical 
presence  of  a pailful  of  crimson  fluid  could  occa- 
sion in  him  such  formidable  bodily  effects. 

Imagine  two  steel  knife-blades  with  their  keen 
edges  crossing  each  other  at  right  angles,  and  mov- 
ing to  and  fro.  Our  whole  nervous  organisation 
is  “on  edge”  at  the  thought;  and  yet  what  emotion 
can  be  there  except  the  unpleasant  nervous  feeling 
itself,  or  the  dread  that  more  of  it  may  come?  The 
entire  fund  and  capital  of  the  emotion  here  is  the 
senseless  bodily  effect  the  blades  immediately  arouse. 
This  case  is  typical  of  a class : where  an  ideal  emo- 
tion seems  to  precede  the  bodily  symptoms,  it  is 
often  nothing  but  a representation  of  the  symptoms 


259 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0884] 


themselves.  One  who  has  already  fainted  at  the 
sight  of  blood  may  witness  the  preparations  for  a 
surgical  operation  with  uncontrollable  heart-sinking 
and  anxiety.  He  anticipates  certain  feelings,  and 
the  anticipation  precipitates  their  arrival.  I am 
told  of  a case  of  morbid  terror,  of  which  the  subject 
confessed  that  what  possessed  her  seemed,  more  than 
anything,  to  be  the  fear  of  fear  itself.  In  the 
various  forms  of  what  Professor  Bain  calls  “tender 
emotion,”  although  the  appropriate  object  must 
usually  be  directly  contemplated  before  the  emotion 
can  be  aroused,  yet  sometimes  thinking  of  the  symp- 
toms of  the  emotion  itself  may  have  the  same  effect. 
In  sentimental  natures,  the  thought  of  “yearning” 
will  produce  real  “yearning.”  And,  not  to  speak 
of  coarser  examples,  a mother’s  imagination  of  the 
caresses  she  bestows  on  her  child  may  arouse  a 
spasm  of  parental  longing. 

In  such  cases  as  these,  we  see  plainly  how  the 
emotion  both  begins  and  ends  with  what  we  call  its 
effects  or  manifestations.  It  has  no  mental  status 
except  as  either  the  presented  feeling,  or  the  idea, 
of  the  manifestations;  which  latter  thus  constitute 
its  entire  material,  its  sum  and  substance,  and  its 
stock-in-trade.  And  these  cases  ought  to  make  us 
see  how  in  all  cases  the  feeling  of  the  manifestations 
may  play  a much  deeper  part  in  the  constitution  of 
the  emotion  than  we  are  wont  to  suppose. 

If  our  theory  be  true,  a necessary  corollary  of  it 
ought  to  be  that  any  voluntary  arousal  of  the  so- 
called  manifestations  of  a special  emotion  ought  to 


260 


[1884] 


WHAT  IS  AN  EMOTION? 


give  ns  the  emotion  itself.  Of  course  in  the  major- 
ity of  emotions,  this  test  is  inapplicable;  for  many 
of  the  manifestations  are  in  organs  over  which  we 
have  no  volitional  control.  Still,  within  the  limits 
in  which  it  can  be  verified,  experience  fully  corrobo- 
rates this  test.  Every  one  knows  how  panic  is  in- 
creased by  flight,  and  how  the  giving  way  to  the 
symptoms  of  grief  or  anger  increases  those  passions 
themselves.  Each  fit  of  sobbing  makes  the  sorrow 
more  acute,  and  calls  forth  another  fit  stronger  still, 
until  at  last  repose  only  ensues  with  lassitude  and 
with  the  apparent  exhaustion  of  the  machinery.  In 
rage,  it  is  notorious  how  we  “work  ourselves  up”  to 
a climax  by  repeated  outbreaks  of  expression.  Re- 
fuse to  express  a passion,  and  it  dies.  Count  ten 
before  venting  your  anger,  and  its  occasion  seems 
ridiculous.  Whistling  to  keep  up  courage  is  no  mere 
figure  of  speech.  On  the  other  hand,  sit  all  day  in  a 
moping  posture,  sigh,  and  reply  to  everything  with 
a dismal  voice,  and  your  melancholy  lingers.  There 
is  no  more  valuable  precept  in  moral  education  than 
this,  as  all  who  have  experience  know : if  we  wish  to 
conquer  undesirable  emotional  tendencies  in  our- 
selves, we  must  assiduously,  and  in  the  first  in- 
stance coldbloodedly,  go  through  the  outward  mo- 
tions of  those  contrary  dispositions  we  prefer  to 
cultivate.  The  reward  of  persistency  will  infallibly 
come,  in  the  fading  out  of  the  sullenness  or  depres- 
sion, and  the  advent  of  real  cheerfulness  and  kindli- 
ness in  their  stead.  Smooth  the  brow,  brighten  the 
eye,  contract  the  dorsal  rather  than  the  ventral 


261 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  t188B 


aspect  of  the  frame,  and  speak  in  a major  key,  pass 
the  genial  compliment,  and  your  heart  must  be 
frigid  indeed  if  it  do  not  gradually  thaw ! 

The  only  exceptions  to  this  are  apparent,  not 
real.  The  great  emotional  expressiveness  and  mo- 
bility of  certain  persons  often  lead  us  to  say  “They 
would  feel  more  if  they  talked  less.”  And  in  an- 
other class  of  persons,  the  explosive  energy  with 
which  passion  manifests  itself  on  critical  occasions, 
seems  correlated  with  the  way  in  which  they  bottle 
it  up  during  the  intervals.  But  these  are  only  eccen- 
tric types  of  character,  and  within  each  type  the  law 
of  the  last  paragraph  prevails.  The  sentimentalist 
is  so  constructed  that  “gushing”  is  his  or  her  normal 
mode  of  expression.  Putting  a stopper  on  the 
“gush”  will  only  to  a limited  extent  cause  more 
“real”  activities  to  take  its  place;  in  the  main  it 
will  simply  produce  listlessness.  On  the  other  hand 
the  ponderous  and  bilious  “slumbering  volcano,”  let 
him  repress  the  expression  of  his  passions  as  he  will, 
will  find  them  expire  if  they  get  no  vent  at  all; 
whilst  if  the  rare  occasions  multiply  which  he  deems 
worthy  of  their  outbreak,  he  will  find  them  grow  in 
intensity  as  life  proceeds. 

I feel  persuaded  there  is  no  real  exception  to  the 
law.  The  formidable  effects  of  suppressed  tears 
might  be  mentioned,  and  the  calming  results  of 
speaking  out  your  mind  when  angry  and  having 
done  with  it.  But  these  are  also  but  specious 
wanderings  from  the  rule.  Every  perception  must 
lead  to  some  nervous  result.  If  this  be  the  normal 


[1884] 


WHAT  IS  AN  EMOTION? 


emotional  expression,  it  soon  expends  itself,  and  in 
the  natural  course  of  things  a calm  succeeds.  But 
if  the  normal  issue  be  blocked  from  any  cause,  the 
currents  may  under  certain  circumstances  invade 
other  tracts,  and  there  work  different  and  worse 
effects.  Thus  vengeful  brooding  may  replace  a 
burst  of  indignation;  a dry  heat  may  consume  the 
frame  of  one  who  fain  would  weep,  or  he  may,  as 
Dante  says,  turn  to  stone  within ; and  then  tears  or 
a storming-fit  may  bring  a grateful  relief.  When 
we  teach  children  to  repress  their  emotions,  it  is  not 
that  they  may  feel  more,  quite  the  reverse.  It  is 
that  they  may  think  more!  for  to  a certain  extent 
whatever  nerve-currents  are  diverted  from  the 
regions  below,  must  swell  the  activity  of  the  thought- 
tracts  of  the  brain.1  , 

The  last  great  argument  in  favour  of  the  priority 
of  the  bodily  symptoms  to  the  felt  emotion  is  the 
ease  with  which  we  formulate  by  its  means  patho- 
logical cases  and  normal  cases  under  a common 
scheme.  In  every  asylum  we  find  examples  of  ab- 
solutely unmotived  fear,  anger,  melancholy,  or  con- 
ceit; and  others  of  an  equally  unmotived  apathy 

1 This  is  the  opposite  of  what  happens  in  injuries  to  the 
brain,  whether  from  outward  violence,  inward  rupture  or  tumor, 
or  mere  starvation  from  disease.  The  cortical  permeability 
seems  reduced,  so  that  excitement,  instead  of  propagating  itself 
laterally  through  the  ideational  channels  as  before,  tends  to 
take  the  downward  track  into  the  organs  of  the  body.  The 
consequence  is  that  we  have  tears,  laughter,  and  temper-fits, 
on  the  most  insignificant  provocation,  accompanying  a propor- 
tional feebleness  in  logical  thought  and  the  power  of  volitional 
attention  and  decision. 


263 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0884] 


which  persists  in  spite  of  the  best  of  outward  reasons 
why  it  should  give  way.  In  the  former  cases  we 
must  suppose  the  nervous  machinery  to  be  so 
“labile”  in  some  one  emotional  direction,  that  almost 
every  stimulus,  however  inappropriate,  will  cause  it 
to  upset  in  that  way,  and  as  a consequence  to  en- 
gender the  particular  complex  of  feelings  of  which 
the  psychic  body  of  the  emotion  consists.  Thus,  to 
take  one  special  instance,  if  inability  to  draw  deep 
breath,  fluttering  of  the  heart,  and  that  peculiar 
epigastric  change  felt  as  “precordial  anxiety,”  with 
an  irresistible  tendency  to  take  a somewhat  crouch- 
ing attitude  and  to  sit  still,  and  with  perhaps  other 
visceral  processes  not  now  known,  all  spontaneously 
occur  together  in  a certain  person;  his  feeling  of 
their  combination  is  the  emotion  of  dread,  and  he  is 
the  victim  of  what  is  known  as  morbid  fear.  A 
friend  who  has  had  occasional  attacks  of  this  most 
distressing  of  all  maladies,  tells  me  that  in  his  case 
the  whole  drama  seems  to  centre  about  the  region 
of  the  heart  and  respiratory  apparatus,  that  his 
main  effort  during  the  attacks  is  to  get  control  of  his 
inspirations  and  to  slow  his  heart,  and  that  the  mo- 
ment he  attains  to  breathing  deeply  and  to  holding 
himself  erect,  the  dread,  ipso  facto , seems  to  depart.1 

1 It  must  be  confessed  that  there  are  cases  of  morbid  fear  in 
which  objectively  the  heart  is  not  much  perturbed.  These  how- 
ever fail  to  prove  anything  against  our  theory,  for  it  is  of 
course  possible  that  the  cortical  centres  normally  percipient  of 
dread  as  a complex  of  cardiac  and  other  organic  sensations  due 
to  real  bodily  change,  should  become  primarily  excited  in  brain- 
disease,  and  give  rise  to  an  hallucination  of  the  changes  being 
there, — an  hallucination  of  dread,  consequently,  coexistent  with 


264 


[1884] 


WHAT  IS  AN  EMOTION? 


The  account  given  to  Brachet  by  one  of  his  own 
patients  of  her  opposite  condition,  that  of  emotional 
insensibility,  has  been  often  quoted,  and  deserves 
to  be  quoted  again : 

“I  still  continue  (she  says)  to  suffer  constantly;  I 
have  not  a moment  of  comfort,  and  no  human  sensa- 
tions. Surrounded  by  all  that  can  render  life  happy  and 
agreeable,  still  to  me  the  faculty  of  enjoyment  and  of 
feeling  is  wanting — both  have  become  physical  impos- 
sibilities. In  everything,  even  in  the  most  tender 
caresses  of  my  children,  I find  only  bitterness.  I cover 
them  with  kisses,  but  there  is  something  between  their 
lips  and  mine;  and  this  horrid  something  is  between 
me  and  all  the  enjoyments  of  life.  My  existence  is  in- 
complete. The  functions  and  acts  of  ordinary  life, 
it  is  true,  still  remain  to  me ; but  in  every  one  of  them 
there  is  something  wanting — to  wit,  the  feeling  which 
is  proper  to  them,  and  the  pleasure  which  follows  them. 
. . . Each  of  my  senses,  each  part  of  my  proper  self, 
is  as  it  were  separated  from  me  and  can  no  longer  af- 
ford me  any  feeling;  this  impossibility  seems  to  depend 
upon  a void  which  I feel  in  the  front  of  my  head,  and 
to  be  due  to  the  diminution  of  the  sensibility  over  the 
whole  surface  of  my  body,  for  it  seems  to  me  that  I 
never  actually  reach  the  objects  which  I touch.  ...  I 

a comparatively  calm  pulse,  etc.  I say  it  is  possible,  for  I am 
ignorant  of  observations  •which  might  test  the  fact.  Trance, 
ecstasy,  etc.,  offer  analogous  examples, — not  to  speak  of  ordinary 
dreaming.  Under  all  these  conditions  one  may  have  the  liveli- 
est subjective  feelings,  either  of  eye  or  ear,  or  of  the  more 
visceral  and  emotional  sort,  as  a result  of  pure  nerve-central 
activity,  with  complete  peripheral  repose.  Whether  the  sub- 
jective strength  of  the  feeling  be  due  in  these  cases  to  the  actual 
energy  of  the  central  disturbance,  or  merely  to  the  narrowing 
of  the  field  of  consciousness,  need  not  concern  us.  In  the 
asylum  cases  of  melancholy,  there  is  usually  a narrowing  of 
the  field. 


265 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1884] 


feel  well  enough  the  changes  of  temperature  on  my 
shin,  t>ut  I no  longer  experience  the  internal  feeling 
of  the  air  when  I breathe.  . . . All  this  would  be  a 
small  matter  enough,  but  for  its  frightful  result,  which 
is  that  of  the  impossibility  of  any  other  kind  of  feeling 
and  of  any  sort  of  enjoyment,  although  I experience 
a need  and  desire  of  them  that  render  my  life  an  in- 
comprehensible torture.  Every  function,  every  action 
of  my  life  remains,  but  deprived  of  the  feeling  that 
belongs  to  it,  of  the  enjoyment  that  should  follow  it. 
My  feet  are  cold,  I warm  them,  but  gain  no  pleasure 
from  the  warmth.  I recognize  the  taste  of  all  I eat, 
without  getting  any  pleasure  from  it.  . . . My  chil- 
dren are  growing  handsome  and  healthy,  everyone  tells 
me  so,  I see  it  myself,  but  the  delight,  the  inward 
comfort  I ought  to  feel,  I fail  to  get.  Music  has  lost 
all  charm  for  me,  I used  to  love  it  dearly.  My  daughter 
plays  very  well,  but  for  me  it  is  mere  noise.  That 
lively  interest  which  a year  ago  made  me  hear  a de- 
licious concert  in  the  smallest  air  their  fingers  played, 
— that  thrill,  that  general  vibration  which  made  me 
shed  such  tender  tears, — all  that  exists  no  more.”1 

Other  victims  describe  themselves  as  closed  in 
walls  of  ice  or  covered  with  an  india-rubber  integu- 
ment, through  which  no  impression  penetrates  to 
the  sealed-up  sensibility. 

If  our  hypothesis  be  true,  it  makes  us  realise  more 
deeply  than  ever  how  much  our  mental  life  is  knit 
up  with  our  corporeal  frame,  in  the  strictest  sense 
of  the  term.  Rapture,  love,  ambition,  indignation, 
and  pride,  considered  as  feelings,  are  fruits  of  the 

1 Quoted  by  Semal : De  la  Sensibility  g6n6rale  dans  les  Affec- 
tions myiancoliques,  Paris,  1876,  pp.  130-135. 


266 


[1884] 


WHAT  IS  AN  EMOTION? 


same  soil  with  the  grossest  bodily  sensations  of 
pleasure  and  of  pain.  But  it  was  said  at  the  outset 
that  this  would  be  affirmed  only  of  what  we  then 
agreed  to  call  the  “standard”  emotions;  and  that 
those  inward  sensibilities  that  appeared  devoid  at 
first  sight  of  bodily  results  should  be  left  out  of  our 
account.  We  had  better,  before  closing,  say  a word 
or  two  about  these  latter  feelings. 

They  are,  the  reader  will  remember,  the  moral, 
intellectual,  and  aesthetic  feelings.  Concords  of 
sounds,  of  colours,  of  lines,  logical  consistencies, 
teleological  fitness,  affect  us  with  a pleasure  that 
seems  ingrained  in  the  very  form  of  the  representa- 
tion itself,  and  to  borrow  nothing  from  any  rever- 
beration surging  up  from  the  parts  below  the  brain. 
The  Herbartian  psychologists  have  tried  to  distin- 
guish feelings  due  to  the  form  in  which  ideas  may  be 
arranged.  A geometrical  demonstration  may  be  as 
“pretty”  and  an  act  of  justice  as  “neat”  as  a draw- 
ing or  a tune,  although  the  prettiness  and  neatness 
seem  here  to  be  a pure  matter  of  sensation,  and 
there  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  sensation.  We 
have  then,  or  some  of  us  seem  to  have,  genuinely 
cerebral  forms  of  pleasure  and  displeasure,  appar- 
ently not  agreeing  in  their  mode  of  production  with 
the  so-called  “standard”  emotions  we  have  been 
analysing.  And  it  is  certain  that  readers  whom 
our  reasons  have  hitherto  failed  to  convince,  will 
now  start  up  at  this  admission,  and  consider  that  by 
it  we  give  up  our  whole  case.  Since  musical  percep- 
tions, since  logical  ideas,  can  immediately  arouse  a 


267 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0884] 


form  of  emotional  feeling,  they  will  say,  is  it  not 
more  natural  to  suppose  that  in  the  case  of  the  so- 
called  “standard”  emotions,  prompted  by  the  pres- 
ence of  objects  or  the  experience  of  events,  the  emo- 
tional feeling  is  equally  immediate,  and  the  bodily 
expression  something  that  comes  later  and  is  added 
on? 

But  a sober  scrutiny  of  the  cases  of  pure  cerebral 
emotion  gives  little  force  to  this  assimilation.  Un- 
less in  them  there  actually  be  coupled  with  the  in- 
tellectual feeling  a bodily  reverberation  of  some 
kind,  unless  we  actually  laugh  at  the  neatness  of 
the  mechanical  device,  thrill  at  the  justice  of  the 
act,  or  tingle  at  the  perfection  of  the  musical  form, 
our  mental  condition  is  more  allied  to  a judgment 
of  right  than  to  anything  else.  And  such  a judg- 
ment is  rather  to  be  classed  among  awarenesses  of 
truth : it  is  a cognitive  act.  But  as  a matter  of  fact 
the  intellectual  feeling  hardly  ever  does  exist  thus 
unaccompanied.  The  bodily  sounding-board  is  at 
work,  as  careful  introspection  will  show,  far  more 
than  we  usually  suppose.  Still,  where  long  famili- 
arity with  a certain  class  of  effects  has  blunted  emo- 
tional sensibility  thereto  as  much  as  it  has  sharp- 
ened the  taste  and  judgment,  we  do  get  the  intellect- 
ual emotion,  if  such  it  can  be  called,  pure  and 
undefiled.  And  the  dryness  of  it,  the  paleness,  the 
absence  of  all  glow,  as  it  may  exist  in  a thoroughly 
expert  critic’s  mind,  not  only  shows  us  what  an  alto- 
gether different  thing  it  is  from  the  “standard”  emo- 
tions we  considered  first,  but  makes  us  suspect  that 


268 


[1884] 


WHAT  IS  AN  EMOTION? 


almost  the  entire  difference  lies  in  the  fact  that  the 
bodily  sounding-board,  vibrating  in  the  one  case,  is 
in  the  other  mute.  “Not  so  very  bad”  is,  in  a person 
of  consummate  taste,  apt  to  be  the  highest  limit  of 
approving  expression.  “ Rien  ne  me  choque ” is  said 
to  have  been  Chopin’s  superlative  of  praise  of  new 
music.  A sentimental  layman  would  feel,  and  ought 
to  feel,  horrified,  on  being  admitted  into  such  a 
critic’s  mind,  to  see  how  cold,  how  thin,  how  void  of 
human  significance,  are  the  motives  for  favour  or 
disfavour  that  there  prevail.  The  capacity  to  make 
a nice  spot  on  the  wall  will  outweigh  a picture’s 
whole  content;  a foolish  trick  of  words  will  pre- 
serve a poem;  an  utterly  meaningless  fitness  of  se- 
quence in  one  musical  composition  set  at  naught 
any  amount  of  “expressiveness”  in  another. 

I remember  seeing  an  English  couple  sit  for  more 
than  an  hour  on  a piercing  February  day  in  the 
Academy  at  Venice  before  the  celebrated  “Assump- 
tion” by  Titian ; and  when  I,  after  being  chased  from 
room  to  room  by  the  cold,  concluded  to  get  into  the 
sunshine  as  fast  as  possible  and  let  the  pictures  go, 
but  before  leaving  drew  reverently  near  to  them  to 
learn  with  what  superior  forms  of  susceptibility 
they  might  be  endowed,  all  I overheard  was  the 
woman’s  voice  murmuring:  “What  a deprecatory 
expression  her  face  wears!  What  self -abnegation/ 
How  unworthy  she  feels  of  the  honour  she  is  receiv- 
ing!” Their  honest  hearts  had  been  kept  warm 
all  the  time  by  a glow  of  spurious  sentiment  that 
would  have  fairly  made  old  Titian  sick.  Mr.  Ruskin 


269 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0884] 


somewhere  makes  the  (for  him)  terrible  admission 
that  religious  people  as  a rule  care  little  for  pic- 
tures, and  that  when  they  do  care  for  them  they 
generally  prefer  the  worst  ones  to  the  best.  Yes! 
in  every  art,  in  every  science,  there  is  the  keen 
perception  of  certain  relations  being  right  or  not, 
and  there  is  the  emotional  flush  and  thrill  conse- 
quent thereupon.  And  these  are  two  things,  not 
one.  In  the  former  of  them  it  is  that  experts  and 
masters  are  at  home.  The  latter  accompaniments 
are  bodily  commotions  that  they  may  hardly  feel, 
but  that  may  be  experienced  in  their  fulness  by 
Cretins  and  Philistines  in  whom  the  critical  judg- 
ment is  at  its  lowest  ebb.  The  “marvels”  of  Science, 
about  which  so  much  edifying  popular  literature  is 
written,  are  apt  to  be  “caviare”  to  the  men  in  the 
laboratories.  Cognition  and  emotion  are  parted 
even  in  this  last  retreat, — who  shall  say  that  their 
antagonism  may  not  just  be  one  phase  of  the  world- 
old  struggle  known  as  that  between  the  spirit  and 
the  flesh? — a struggle  in  which  it  seems  pretty  cer- 
tain that  neither  party  will  definitively  drive  the 
other  off  the  field. 

To  return  now  to  our  starting-point,  the  physi- 
ology of  the  brain.  If  we  suppose  its  cortex  to  con- 
tain centres  for  the  perception  of  changes  in  each 
special  sense-organ,  in  each  portion  of  the  skin,  in 
each  muscle,  each  joint,  and  each  viscus,  and  to 
contain  absolutely  nothing  else,  we  still  have  a 
scheme  perfectly  capable  of  representing  the  proc- 
ess of  the  emotions.  An  object  falls  on  a sense-organ 


270 


[1884] 


WHAT  IS  AN  EMOTION? 


and  is  apperceived  by  the  appropriate  cortical 
centre ; or  else  the  latter,  excited  in  some  other  way, 
gives  rise  to  an  idea  of  the  same  object.  Quick  as 
a flash,  the  reflex  currents  pass  down  through  their 
pre-ordained  channels,  alter  the  condition  of  muscle, 
skin  and  viscus ; and  these  alterations,  apperceived 
like  the  original  object,  in  as  many  specific  portions 
of  the  cortex,  combine  with  it  in  consciousness  and 
transform  it  from  an  object-simply-apprehended  into 
an  object-emotionally-felt.  No  new  principles  have 
to  be  invoked,  nothing  is  postulated  beyond  the 
ordinary  reflex  circuit,  and  the  topical  centres  ad- 
mitted in  one  shape  or  another  by  all  to  exist. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  a crucial  test  of  the 
truth  of  the  hypothesis  is  quite  as  hard  to  obtain 
as  its  decisive  refutation.  A case  of  complete  in- 
ternal and  external  corporeal  anaesthesia,  without 
motor  alteration  or  alteration  of  intelligence  except 
emotional  apathy,  would  afford,  if  not  a crucial  test, 
at  least  a strong  presumption,  in  favour  of  the  truth 
of  the  view  we  have  set  forth ; whilst  the  persistence 
of  strong  emotional  feeling  in  such  a case  would 
completely  overthrow  our  case.  Hysterical  anaes- 
thesias seem  never  to  be  complete  enough  to  cover 
the  ground.  Complete  anaesthesias  from  organic 
disease,  on  the  other  hand,  are  excessively  rare.  In 
the  famous  case  of  Eemigius  Leims,  no  mention  is 
made  by  the  reporters  of  his  emotional  condition, 
a circumstance  which  by  itself  affords  no  presump- 
tion that  it  was  normal,  since  as  a rule  nothing  ever 
is  noticed  without  a pre-existing  question  in  the 


271 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0884] 


mind.  Dr.  Georg  Winter  lias  recently  described  a 
case  somewhat  similar,1  and  in  reply  to  a question, 
kindly  writes  to  me  as  follows : “The  case  has  been 
for  a year  and  a half  entirely  removed  from  my  ob- 
servation. But  so  far  as  I am  able  to  state,  the  man 
was  characterised  by  a certain  mental  inertia  and 
indolence.  He  was  tranquil,  and  had  on  the  whole 
the  temperament  of  a phlegmatic.  He  was  not  irri- 
table, not  quarrelsome,  went  quietly  about  his  farm- 
work,  and  left  the  care  of  his  business  and  house- 
keeping to  other  people.  In  short,  he  gave  one  the 
impression  of  a placid  countryman,  who  has  no  in- 
terests beyond  his  work.”  Dr.  Winter  adds  that 
in  studying  the  case  he  paid  no  particular  atten- 
tion to  the  man’s  psychic  condition,  as  this  seemed 
“ nebensachlicli ” to  his  main  purpose.  I should  add 
that  the  form  of  my  question  to  Dr.  Winter  could 
give  him  no  clue  as  to  the  kind  of  answer  I expected. 

Of  course,  this  case  proves  nothing,  but  it  is  to  be 
hoped  that  asylum-physicians  and  nervous  special- 
ists may  begin  methodically  to  study  the  relation 
between  anaesthesia  and  emotional  apathy.  If  the 
hypothesis  here  suggested  is  ever  to  be  definitively 
confirmed  or  disproved  it  seems  as  if  it  must  be  by 
them,  for  they  alone  have  the  data  in  their  hands. 

P.S. — By  an  unpardonable  forgetfulness  at  the  time 
of  despatching  my  MS.  to  the  Editor,  I ignored  the 
existence  of  the  extraordinary  case  of  total  anaesthesia 
published  by  Professor  Striimpell  in  Ziemssen’s 

1 “Ein  Fall  von  allgemeiner  Anaesthesie,”  Inaugural-Disserta- 
tion. Heidelberg,  Winter,  1882. 


272 


[1884] 


WHAT  IS  AN  EMOTION? 


Deutsches  Archiv  fur  klinische  Medicin  xxii.,  321, 
of  which  I had  nevertheless  read  reports  at  the  time  of 
its  publication.  [ Cf . first  report  of  the  case  in  Mind, 
X.,  263,  translated  from  P finger’s  Archiv.  Ed.]  I 
believe  that  it  constitutes  the  only  remaining  case  of 
the  sort  in  medical  literature,  so  that  with  it  our  survey 
is  complete.  On  referring  to  the  original,  which  is 
important  in  many  connexions,  I found  that  the  patient, 
a shoemaker’s  apprentice  of  fifteen,  entirely  anaes- 
thetic, inside  and  out,  with  the  exception  of  one  eye 
and  one  ear,  had  shown  shame  on  the  occasion  of  soil- 
ing his  bed,  and  grief,  when  a formerly  favourite  dish 
was  set  before  him,  at  the  thought  that  he  could  no 
longer  taste  its  flavour.  As  Dr.  Strumpell  seemed 
however  to  have  paid  no  special  attention  to  his  psychic 
states,  so  far  as  these  are  matter  for  our  theory,  I 
wrote  to  him  in  a few  words  what  the  essence  of  the 
theory  was,  and  asked  him  to  say  whether  he  felt  sure 
the  grief  and  shame  mentioned  were  real  feelings  in 
the  boy’s  mind,  or  only  the  reflex  manifestations  pro- 
voked by  certain  perceptions,  manifestations  that  an 
outside  observer  might  note,  but  to  which  the  boy  him- 
self might  be  insensible. 

Dr.  Strumpell  has  sent  me  a very  obliging  reply, 
of  which  I translate  the  most  important  passage. 

“I  must  indeed  confess  that  I naturally  failed  to 
institute  with  my  Ancesthetiker  observations  as  special 
as  the  sense  of  your  theory  would  require.  Neverthe- 
less I think  I can  decidedly  make  the  statement,  that 
he  was  by  no  means  completely  lacking  in  emotional 
affections.  In  addition  to  the  feelings  of  grief  and 
shame  mentioned  in  my  paper,  I recall  distinctly  that 
he  showed  e.g.,  anger,  and  frequently  quarrelled  with 
the  hospital  attendants.  He  also  manifested  fear  lest 
I should  punish  him.  In  short,  I do  not  think  that 
my  case  speaks  exactly  in  favour  of  your  theory.  On 


273 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  EEVIEWS  0884] 


the  other  hand,  I will  not  affirm  that  it  positively 
refutes  your  theory.  For  my  case  was  certainly  one 
of  a very  centrally  conditioned  anaesthesia  (perception- 
anaesthesia,  like  that  of  hysterics)  and  therefore  the 
conduction  of  outward  impressions  may  in  him  have 
been  undisturbed.” 

I confess  that  I do  not  see  the  relevancy  of  the  last 
consideration,  and  this  makes  me  suspect  that  my 
own  letter  was  too  briefly  or  obscurely  expressed  to  put 
my  correspondent  fully  in  possession  of  my  own  thought. 
For  his  reply  still  makes  no  explicit  reference  to  any- 
thing but  the  outward  manifestations  of  emotion  in 
the  boy.  Is  it  not  at  least  conceivable  that,  just  as  a 
stranger,  brought  into  the  boy’s  presence  for  the  first 
time,  and  seeing  him  eat  and  drink  and  satisfy  other 
natural  necessities,  would  suppose  him  to  have  the  feel- 
ings of  hunger,  thirst,  etc.,  until  informed  by  the  boy 
himself  that  he  did  all  these  things  with  no  feeling 
at  all  but  that  of  sight  and  sound — is  it  not,  I say,  at 
least  possible,  that  Dr.  Striimpell,  addressing  no  direct 
introspective  questions  to  his  patient,  and  the  patient 
not  being  of  a class  from  which  one  could  expect  volun- 
tary revelations  of  that  sort,  should  have  similarly 
omitted  to  discriminate  between  a feeling  and  its  habit- 
ual motor  accompaniment,  and  erroneously  taken  the 
latter  as  proof  that  the  former  was  there  ? Such  a mis- 
take is  of  course  possible,  and  I must  therefore  repeat 
Dr.  Strumpell’s  own  words,  that  his  case  does  not  yet 
refute  my  theory.  Should  a similar  case  recur,  it 
ought  to  be  interrogated  as  to  the  inward  emotional 
state  that  co-existed  with  the  outward  expressions  of 
shame,  anger,  etc.  And  if  it  then  turned  out  that  the 
patient  recognized  explicitly  the  same  mood  of  feeling 
known  under  those  names  in  his  former  normal  state, 
my  theory  would  of  course  fall.  It  is,  however,  to  me 
incredible  that  the  patient  should  have  an  identical 


274 


[1884] 


WHAT  IS  AN  EMOTION? 


feeling,  for  tlie  dropping  out  of  the  organic  sounding- 
board  would  necessarily  diminish  its  volume  in  some 
way.  The  teacher  of  Dr.  Strumpell’s  patient  found  a 
mental  deficiency  in  him  during  his  ansesthesia,  that 
may  possibly  have  been  due  to  the  consequences  result- 
ing to  his  general  intellectual  vivacity  from  the  sub- 
traction of  so  important  a mass  of  feelings,  even  though 
they  were  not  the  whole  of  his  emotional  life.  Who- 
ever wishes  to  extract  from  the  next  case  of  total  anes- 
thesia the  maximum  of  knowledge  about  the  emotions, 
will  have  to  interrogate  the  patient  with  some  such 
notion  as  that  of  my  article  in  his  mind.  We  can  define 
the  pure  psychic  emotions  far  better  by  starting  from 
such  an  hypothesis  and  modifying  it  in  the  way  of 
restriction  and  subtraction,  than  by  having  no  definite 
hypothesis  at  all.  Thus  will  the  publication  of  my 
article  have  been  justified,  even  though  the  theory  it 
advocates,  rigorously  taken,  be  erroneous.  The  best 
thing  I can  say  for  it  is,  that  in  writing  it,  I have  almost 
persuaded  myself  it  may  be  true. 


275 


XVI 


THE  RELIGIOUS  ASPECT  OF 
PHILOSOPHY 1 

[1885] 

It  is  certain  that  we  live  in  a philosophic  age. 
Mrs.  Partington’s  mop,  as  she  plied  it  against  the 
Atlantic  Ocean,  was  a potent  engine  compared  with 
the  command  to  “halt”  with  which  Positivism  tried, 
and  tries,  to  bring  the  heaving  tides  of  man’s  in- 
quisitiveness to  rest.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  we 
are  getting  deeper  and  deeper  in.  Every  new  book 
thickens  the  fray,  and  is  one  more  thing  with  which 
to  settle  accounts ; and  any  bit  of  scientific  research 
becomes  an  angle  and  place  of  vantage  from  which 
arguments  are  brought  to  bear.  When  a branch  of 
human  activity  is  fermenting  like  this,  it  happens 
that  individual  sharers  in  the  movement  profit  by 
the  common  level  being  raised,  and  do  easily  what, 
perhaps,  in  an  isolated  way  they  never  could  have 

t1  Review  of  The  Religious  Aspect  of  Philosophy,  by  Josiah 
Royce,  Boston,  1885.  Reprinted  from  Atlantic  Monthly,  1885, 
55,  840-843.  Interesting  for  the  light  which  it  throws  on  James’s 
relations  with  idealism.  In  this  review  he  states  that  he  finds 
idealism  to  afford  the  most  promising  solution  of  the  problem 
of  thought’s  reference  to  reality.  James  acknowledged  his  obli- 
gations to  Royce  in  a note  appended  to  “The  Function  of 
Cognition’’  (1885),  but  he  afterwards  rejected  the  idealistic 
solution.  Of.  Meaning  of  Truth  (1909),  p.  22,  note.  Ed.] 


276 


[1885]  RELIGIOUS  aspect  of  philosophy 


done  at  all.  We  doubt  if,  at  the  dawn  of  our  pres- 
ent philosophic  movement,  say  in  Sir  William  Ham- 
ilton’s time,  a writer  with  Dr.  Royce’s  ideas  could 
possibly  have  expressed  them  in  so  easy  and  unen- 
cumbered and  effectual  form.  A familiar  catch- 
word replaces  a tedious  setting  forth;  a reference 
to  a popular  writer  serves  instead  of  the  heavy  con- 
struction of  an  imaginary  opponent ; and  above  all, 
important  objections  are  not  likely  to  be  overlooked 
or  forgot. 

But  although  the  age  is  philosophical,  it  is  not  so 
after  the  fashion  of  Hegel’s  age  in  Germany,  or 
Cousin’s  age  in  France.  We  have  no  Emperor  of 
Philosophy  in  any  country  to-day,  but  a headless 
host  of  princes,  with  their  alliances  and  feuds. 
This  seems  at  first  anarchic,  and  is  apt  to  give  com- 
fort to  the  scoffers  at  metaphysical  inquiry,  and  to 
all  who  believe  that  only  the  study  of  “facts”  can 
lead  to  definitive  results.  The  addition  to  the  com- 
batants of  Dr.  Royce,  with  his  book,  can  only  in- 
crease this  first  impression  of  confusion;  for,  like 
Descartes  and  Fichte  and  many  another  hero  of 
belief,  he  begins  by  laying  about  him  ruthlessly,  and 
establishing  a philosophic  desert  of  doubt  on  which 
his  own  impregnable  structure  is  to  be  reared.  And 
yet  a closer  survey  shows  that  to  a great  extent  all 
these  quarrels  and  recriminations  of  the  modern 
thinkers  are  over  matters  of  detail,  and  that, 
although  they  obey  no  common  leader,  they  for  the 
most  part  obey  a common  drift, — the  drift,  namely, 
towards  a phenomenalistic  or  idealistic  creed.  To 


277 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0885] 


this  conclusion  Dr.  Royce  also  sweeps,  with  a mo- 
mentum that  carries  him  beyond  Ferrier  and  Mill 
and  Bain,  beyond  Hodgson,  Renouvier,  and  Bowne, 
beyond  the  disciples  of  Schopenhauer  and  the  dis- 
ciples of  Fichte  and  Hegel,  wherever  found,  and 
beyond  a number  of  contemporary  German  idealists 
whose  names  need  not  be  cited  here.  Such  think- 
ers all  agree  that  there  can  be  no  other  kind  of 
Reality  than  reality-for-thought.  They  differ  only 
in  the  arguments  they  use  to  prove  this  thesis,  and 
in  deciding  whose  thought  and  what  kind  of 
thought  that  thought  which  is  the  reality  of  reali- 
ties may  be. 

Dr.  Royce’s  new  and  original  proof  of  Idealism  is, 
so  far  as  we  know,  the  most  positive  and  radical 
proof  yet  proposed.  It  is  short  and  simple,  when 
once  seen,  and  yet  so  subtle  that  it  is  no  wonder  it 
was  never  seen  before.  These  short  and  simple 
suggestions  that  philosophers  make  from  time  to 
time — Locke’s  question  about  essence,  for  example, 
Berkeley’s  about  matter,  Hume’s  about  cause,  and 
Kant’s  about  necessary  judgments, — have  an  intol- 
erable way  with  them  of  sticking,  in  spite  of  all  one 
can  do.  To  scholastic  minds,  who  have  made  their 
bed,  and  wish  for  nothing  further  than  to  snore 
dogmatically  and  comfortably  on,  these  questions 
must  seem  like  very  vermin,  not  to  be  conquered  by 
any  logical  insect  powder  or  philosophic  comb. 

The  particular  gadfly  which  Dr.  Royce  adds  to  the 
list  is  this : “How  can  a thought  refer  to,  intend,  or 
signify  any  particular  reality  outside  of  itself?” 


278 


[1885]  RELIGIOUS  aspect  of  philosophy 


Suppose  the  reality  there,  and  the  thought  there; 
suppose  the  thought  to  resemble  just  that  reality, 
and  nought  besides  in  the  world:  still,  asks  our 
author,  what  is  meant  by  saying  that  the  thought 
stands  for  or  represents  that  reality,  or  indeed  any 
reality  at  all?  Why  isn’t  it  just  like  the  case  of  two 
eggs,  or  two  toothaches,  which  may,  it  is  true,  re- 
semble and  duplicate  each  other  exactly,  but  which 
are  not  held  to  mean  or  intend  each  other  the  least 
in  the  world?  If  the  eggs  and  the  toothaches  are, 
each  one  of  them,  a separate  substantive  fact,  shut 
up  in  its  own  skin  and  knowing  nothing  of  the 
world  outside,  why  are  not  one’s  thought,  for  ex- 
ample, of  the  Moon  and  the  real  Moon  in  exactly 
the  same  predicament?  The  Moon  in  our  thought 
is  our  thought’s  Moon.  Whatever  we  may  think  of 
her  is  true  of  her,  for  she  is  but  the  creature  of 
our  thinking.  If  we  say  “her  hidden  hemisphere 
is  inhabited,”  it  is  inhabited,  for  us;  and  otherwise 
than  for  us  that  moon,  the  moon  in  our  mind,  has 
no  existence.  A critic  cannot  prove  us  wrong  by 
bringing  in  a “real”  moon  with  an  uninhabited  back 
hemisphere;  he  cannot,  by  comparing  that  moon 
with  ours  and  showing  the  want  of  resemblance, 
make  our  moon  “false.”  To  do  that,  he  would  first 
have  to  establish  that  the  thought  in  our  mind 
was  a thought  of  just  that  external  moon,  and 
intended  to  be  true  of  it.  But  neither  he  nor  we 
could  establish  that:  it  would  be  worse  than  a 
gratuitous,  it  would  be  a senseless,  proposition. 
Our  Moon  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  real  moon; 


279 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1885] 


she  is  a totally  additional  fact,  pursuing  her  sub- 
jective destiny  all  alone,  and  only  accidentally  per- 
ceived by  an  outside  critic  to  agree  or  disagree  with 
another  moon,  which  he  knows  and  chooses  to  call 
real,  but  which  is  really  out  of  all  relation  to  the 
one  in  our  mind’s  eye.  At  most,  the  critic  might 
say  he  was  reminded  or  not  reminded  of  that  other 
moon  by  our  Moon;  but  he  could  not  say  that  ours 
gave  either  a true  or  a false  account  of  the  other, 
simply  because  ours  never  pretended  to  give  any 
account,  or  to  refer  to  the  other  moon,  at  all.  Nor 
can  we  ourselves  make  it  refer  to  that  other  moon, 
by  “proposing”  or  “supposing”  that  it  does  so  refer; 
all  we  can  propose  or  suppose  is  some  altogether 
new  moon  in  our  own  mind,  and  refer  the  old 
one  there  to  that  one.  Over  all  such  moons  we 
have  complete  control,  but  over  nothing  else  under 
heaven.  At  least,  thinks  Dr.  Royce,  such  ought  to 
be  our  inference,  if  the  notion  of  common  sense  be 
true,  that  our  thought  and  the  reality  are  two 
wholly  disconnected  things. 

The  more  one  thinks,  the  more  one  feels  that 
there  is  a real  puzzle  here.  Turn  and  twist  as  we 
will,  we  are  caught  in  a tight  trap.  Although  we 
cannot  help  believing  that  our  thoughts  do  mean 
realities  and  are  true  or  false  of  them,  we  cannot 
for  the  life  of  us  ascertain  how  they  can  mean  them. 
If  thought  be  one  thing  and  reality  another,  by  what 
pincers,  from  out  of  all  the  realities,  does  the 
thought  pick  out  the  special  one  it  intends  to  know? 
And  if  the  thought  knows  the  reality  falsely,  the 


280 


[1885]  RELIGIOUS  aspect  of  philosophy 


difficulty  of  answering  the  question  becomes  indeed 
extreme. 

Our  author  calls  the  question  insoluble  on  these 
terms ; and  we  are  inclined  to  think  him  right,  and 
to  suspect  that  his  idealistic  escape  from  the 
quandary  may  be  the  best  one  for  us  all  to  take. 
We  supposed,  just  now,  a critic  comparing  the  real 
moon  and  our  mental  moon.  Let  him  now  help  us 
forward.  We  saw  that  even  he  could  not  make  it 
out  that  our  mental  moon  should  refer  to  just  that 
individual  real  moon,  and  to  nothing  else.  We 
could  not  make  it  out  either,  and  certainly  the  real 
moon  itself  could  not  make  it  out.  We  saw,  how- 
ever, that  we  could  make  anything  in  our  own  mind 
refer  to  anything  else  there , — provided,  of  course, 
the  two  things  were  objects  of  a single  act  of 
thought;  and  the  reason  why  our  moon  could  not 
refer  to  the  real  moon  was  that  the  two  moons  were 
not  facts  in  a common  mind.  But  now  imagine 
our  “critic,”  instead  of  being  the  mere  dissevered 
third  thing  he  was,  to  be  a common  mind.  Imag- 
ine his  thought  of  our  thought  to  be  our  thought, 
and  his  thought  of  the  real  moon  to  be  the  real 
moon.  Both  it  and  we  have  now  become  consub- 
stantial ; we  are  reduced  to  a common  denominator. 
Both  of  us  are  members  of  the  one  total  Thought, 
and  any  relation  which  that  Thought  draws  between 
its  members  is  as  real  as  the  members  themselves. 
If  that  Thought  intend  one  of  its  members  to  “rep- 
resent” the  other,  and  represent  it  either  falsely  or 
truly,  “’tis  but  thinking,  and  it  is  done.”  There  is 


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COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0885] 


no  other  way  in  which  one  thing  can  “represent” 
another ; and  no  possibility  of  either  truth  or  false- 
hood unless  the  function  of  representation  be  genu- 
inely there.  An  “Over-Soul,”  of  whose  enveloping 
thought  our  thought  and  the  things  we  think  of  are 
alike  fractions, — such  is  the  only  hypothesis  that 
can  form  a basis  for  the  reality  of  truth  and  of  error 
in  the  world. 

The  reality  of  truth  and  error  are,  then,  Dr. 
Royce’s  novel  reason  for  believing  that  all  that  is 
has  the  foundations  of  its  being  laid  in  an  infinite 
all-inclusive  Mind.  Upon  the  highest  heights  of 
dogmatism  and  in  the  deepest  depths  of  skepticism, 
alike  the  argument  blooms,  saying,  “Whatever 
things  be  false,  and  whatever  things  be  true,  one 
thing  stands  forever  true,  and  that  is  that  the  En- 
veloping Mind  must  be  there  to  make  them  either 
false  or  true.” 

To  the  lay-reader,  this  absolute  Idealism  doubt- 
less seems  insubstantial  and  unreal  enough.  But 
it  is  astonishing  to  learn  how  many  paths  lead 
up  to  it.  Dr.  Royce’s  path  is  only  one.  The  others 
are  of  various  kinds  and  degrees,  and  may  be  found 
in  all  sorts  of  books,  few  of  them  together.  But 
taken  altogether,  they  end  by  making  about  as  for- 
midable a convergence  of  testimony  as  the  history 
of  opinion  affords.  The  persons  most  pleased  by  Dr. 
Royce’s  book  will  no  doubt  be  the  Hegelians  here 
and  in  Great  Britain ; for  it  seems  to  us  that  he  has 
reached  a religious  result  hardly  distinguishable 
from  their  own,  by  a method  entirely  free  from  that 


282 


[1885]  KELIGIOUS  aspect  of  philosophy 


identification  of  contradictories  which  is  the  great 
stumbling-block  in  the  Hegelian  system  of  thought. 
The  result  is  that  all  truth  is  known  to  one  Thought, 
that  is  infinite,  in  which  the  world  lives  and  moves 
and  has  its  being,  which  abides  and  waxes  not  old, 
and  in  which  there  is  neither  variableness  nor 
shadow  of  turning.  The  ordinary  objection  to  a 
pantheistic  monism  like  this  is  the  ethical  one,  that 
it  makes  all  that  happens  a portion  of  the  eternal 
reason,  and  so  must  nourish  a fatalistic  mood,  and 
a willingness  to  accept  and  consecrate  whatever  is, 
no  matter  what  its  moral  quality  may  be.  Dr. 
Royce  is  not  as  disdainful  of  this  difficulty  as  the 
Hegelians  are.  We  are  not  sure  he  has  got  over 
it,  but  he  has  bravely  and  beautifully  attacked  it; 
and  his  section  on  the  problem  of  evil,  in  his  last 
chapter,  is  as  original  and  fresh  a treatment  of  the 
subject  as  we  know. 

Unfortunately,  we  have  no  space  to  do  more  than 
recommend  it  to  the  reader’s  attention.  And  now 
that  we  find  ourselves  at  the  end  of  our  tether,  we 
wonder  whether  a notice  entirely  made  up  of  quo- 
tations would  not  have  been  a better  thing  than  this 
attempt  of  ours  to  set  forth  the  most  fundamental, 
it  is  true,  but  still  the  driest,  portion  of  the  book. 
Never  was  a philosophic  work  less  dry;  never  one 
more  suggestive  of  springtime,  or,  as  we  may  say, 
more  redolent  of  the  smell  of  the  earth.  Never  was 
a gentler,  easier  irony  shown  in  discussion;  and 
never  did  a more  subtle  analytic  movement  keep 
constantly  at  such  close  quarters  with  the  cubical 


283 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0885] 


and  concrete  facts  of  human  life  as  shown  in  indi- 
viduals. In  the  entire  ethical  portion  of  the  work 
its  author  shows  himself  to  be  a first-rate  moralist, 
in  the  old-fashioned  sense  of  the  word,  as  one  who 
knows  delightfully  how  to  describe  the  lights  and 
shadows  of  special  moral  types  and  tendencies.  In 
his  discussions  of  the  ethics  of  “sympathy”  and  of 
the  ethics  of  “progress”  are  passages  which  are  mas- 
terpieces in  this  line.  And  here  again,  from  the 
very  depths  of  the  desert  of  skepticism,  the  flower  of 
moral  faith  is  found  to  bloom.  Everything  in  Dr. 
Royce  is  radical.  There  is  nothing  to  remind  one 
of  that  dreary  fighting  of  each  step  of  a slow  retreat 
to  which  the  theistic  philosophers  of  the  ordinary 
common-sense  school  have  accustomed  us.  For  this 
reason  the  work  must  carry  a true  sursum  corda 
into  the  minds  of  those  who  feel  in  their  bones  that 
man’s  religious  interests  must  be  able  to  swallow 
and  digest  and  grow  fat  upon  all  the  facts  and 
theories  of  modern  science,  but  who  yet  have  not  the 
capacity  to  see  with  their  own  eyes  how  it  may  be 
done.  There  is  plenty  of  leveling  in  Dr.  Royce’s 
book,  but  it  all  ends  by  being  a leveling-up.  The 
Thought  of  which  our  thought  is  part  is  lord  of  all, 
and,  to  use  the  author’s  own  phrase,  he  does  not  see 
why  we  should  clip  our  own  wings  to  keep  ourselves 
from  flying  out  of  our  own  coop  over  our  own  fence 
into  our  own  garden.  California  may  feel  proud 
that  a son  of  hers  should  at  a stroke  have  scored 
so  many  points  in  a game  not  yet  exceedingly  fa- 
miliar on  the  Pacific  slope. 


284 


XYII 


THE  CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  LOST 
LIMBS  1 

[1887] 

Many  persons  with  lost  limbs  still  seem  to  feel 
them  in  their  old  place.  This  illusion  is  so  well 
known,  and  the  material  for  study  is  so  abundant, 
that  it  seems  strange  that  no  more  systematic  effort 
to  investigate  the  phenomenon  should  have  been 
made.  Dr.  Weir  Mitchell’s  observations  in  his  work 
on  “Injuries  to  the  Nerves”  (1872)  are  the  most  copi- 
ous and  minute  with  which  I am  acquainted.  They 
reveal  such  interesting  variations  in  the  conscious- 
ness in  question,  that  I began  some  years  ago  to 
seek  for  additional  observations,  in  the  hope  that 
out  of  a large  number  of  data,  some  might  emerge 
which  would  throw  on  these  variations  an  explana- 
tory light. 

The  differences  in  question  are  principally  these : 

1.  Some  patients  preserve  consciousness  of  the 
limb  after  it  has  been  lost ; others  do  not. 

2.  In  some  it  appears  always  in  one  fixed  posi- 
. tion;  in  others  its  apparent  position  changes. 

1 [Reprinted  from  Proceedings  of  the  American  Society  for 
Psychical  Research,  1887,  1,  249-258.  Results  bearing  on  sensa- 
tion, perception,  and  will,  referred  to  briefly  in  the  Principles 
(1890),  Vol.  II.,  pp.  105,  note,  516,  note.  Ed.] 


285 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0887] 


3.  In  some  the  position  can  be  made  to  seem  to 
change  by  an  effort  of  will ; in  others  no  effort  of  will 
can  make  it  change ; in  rare  cases  it  would  even  seem 
that  the  very  attempt  to  will  the  change  has  grown 
impossible. 

I have  obtained  first-hand  information  from  a 
hundred  and  eighty-five  amputated  persons.  Some 
of  this  was  gained  by  personal  interviews ; but  much 
the  larger  portion  consists  of  replies  to  a circular 
of  questions  of  which  I sent  out  some  eight  hundred 
copies  to  addresses  furnished  me  by  some  of  the 
leading  makers  of  artificial  limbs.1 

The  results  are  disappointing,  in  that  they  fail  to 
explain  the  causes  of  the  enumerated  differences. 
But  they  tell  certain  things  and  suggest  reflections 
which  I here  set  down  for  the  use  of  future  in- 
quirers.2 

First,  as  to  the  relative  frequency  of  the  feeling  of 
the  lost  parts.  It  existed  at  the  time  of  answering 
my  interrogatories  in  about  three-quarters  of  the 

1 For  these  addresses  I have  to  thank  Messrs.  Fisk  & Arnold, 
of  Boston ; Marks,  and  Wicket  & Bradley,  of  New  York ; 
Clement,  and  Osborne,  of  Philadelphia  ; and  Douglass,  of  Spring- 
field,  Mass. 

2 One  lesson  from  them  is  that  in  a delicate  inquiry  like  this, 
little  is  to  be  gained  by  distributing  circulars.  A single  patient 
with  the  right  sort  of  lesion  and  a scientific  mind,  carefully 
cross-examined,  is  more  likely  to  deepen  our  knowledge  than  a 
thousand  circulars  answered  as  the  average  patient  answers 
them,  even  though  the  answers  be  never  so  thoroughly  collated 
by  the  investigator.  This  is  becoming  apparent  in  many  lines 
of  psychological  inquiry ; and  we  shall  probably,  ere  long,  learn 
the  limits  within  which  the  method  of  circulars  is  likely  to  be 
used  with  fruit. 


286 


[1887]  CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  LOST  LIMBS 


cases  of  which  I have  reports.  I say  in  about  the 
proportion  of  cases,  for  many  of  the  answers  were 
not  quite  clear.  It  had  existed  in  a much  larger 
proportionate  number,  but  had  faded  out  before  the 
time  of  answering.  Some  had  ceased  to  feel  it  “im- 
mediately,” or  “an  hour  or  two”  after  the  amputa- 
tion. In  others  it  had  lasted  weeks,  months,  or 
years.  The  oldest  case  I have  is  that  of  a man  who 
had  had  a thigh  amputation  performed  at  the  age  of 
thirteen  years,  and  who,  after  he  was  seventy, 
affirmed  his  feeling  of  the  lost  foot  to  be  still  every 
whit  as  distinct  as  his  feeling  of  the  foot  which 
remained.  Amongst  my  one  hundred  and  seventy- 
nine  cases  only  seven  are  of  the  upper  extremity. 
In  all  of  these,  the  sense  of  the  lost  hand  remained. 

The  consciousness  of  the  lost  limb  varies  from 
acute  pain,  pricking,  itching,  burning,  cramp,  un- 
easiness, numbness,  etc.,  in  the  toes,  heel,  or  other 
place,  to  feelings  which  are  hardly  perceptible,  or 
which  become  perceptible  only  after  a good  deal  of 
“thinking.”  The  feeling  is  not  due  to  the  condition 
of  the  stump,  for  in  both  painful  and  healthy  stumps 
it  may  be  either  present  or  absent.  Where  it  is  dis- 
tinct both  the  lost  foot  or  hand  and  the  stump  are 
felt  simultaneously,  each  in  its  own  place.  The 
hand  and  foot  are  usually  the  only  lost  parts  very 
distinctly  felt,  the  intervening  tracts  seeming  to 
disappear.  A man,  for  example,  whose  arm  was  cut 
off  at  the  shoulder- joint  told  me  that  he  felt  his  hand 
budding  immediately  from  his  shoulder.  This  is, 
however,  not  constantly  the  case  by  any  means. 


287 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0887] 


Many  patients  with  thigh-amputation  feel,  more  or 
less  distinctly,  their  knee,  or  their  calf.  But  even 
where  they  do  not,  the  foot  may  seem  separate  from 
the  stump,  though  possibly  located  nearer  it  than 
natural.  A second  shoulder-joint  case  says  his  arm 
seems  to  lie  on  his  breast,  centrally  with  fingers 
closed  on  palm  just  as  it  did  eight  or  ten  hours 
before  amputation. 

It  is  a common  experience,  during  the  first  weeks 
after  amputation,  for  the  patient  to  forget  that  his 
leg  is  gone.  Many  patients  tell  how  they  met  with 
accidents,  by  rising  suddenly  and  starting  to  walk 
as  if  their  leg  were  still  there,  or  by  getting  out  of 
bed  in  the  same  way.  Others  tell  how  they  have 
involuntarily  put  down  their  hand  to  scratch  their 
departed  foot.  One  man  writes  that  he  found  him- 
self preparing  with  scissors  to  cut  its  nails,  so  dis- 
tinctly did  he  feel  them.  Generally  the  position  of 
the  lost  leg  follows  that  of  the  stump  and  artificial 
leg.  If  one  is  flexed  the  other  seems  flexed;  if  one 
is  extended  so  is  the  other ; if  one  swings  in  walking 
the  other  swings  with  it.  In  a few  correspondents, 
however,  the  lost  leg  maintains  a more  or  less  fixed 
position  of  its  own,  independent  of  the  artificial  leg. 
One  such  man  told  me  that  he  felt  as  if  he  had  three 
legs  in  all,  getting  sometimes  confused,  in  coming 
down  stairs,  between  the  artificial  leg  which  he  put 
forward,  and  the  imaginary  one  which  he  felt  bent 
backwards  and  in  danger  of  scraping  its  toes  upon 
the  steps  just  left  behind.  Dr.  Mitchell  tells  of  cer- 
tain arms  which  appeared  fixedly  in  the  last  pain- 


288 


[1887]  CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  LOST  LIMBS 


ful  attitude  they  had  occupied  before  amputation. 
One  of  my  correspondents  writes  that  he  feels  con- 
stantly a blister  on  his  heel  which  was  there  at  the 
time  of  his  accident ; another  that  he  had  chilblains 
at  the  time  of  the  accident,  and  feels  them  still  on 
his  toes. 

The  differences  in  the  apparent  mobility  of  the 
lost  part,  when  felt,  are  strange.  About  a hundred 
of  the  cases  who  feel  (say)  their  feet,  affirm  that 
they  can  “work”  or  “wiggle”  their  toes  at  will. 
About  fifty  of  them  deny  that  they  have  any  such 
power.  This  again  is  not  due  to  the  condition  of  the 
stump,  for  both  painful  and  healthy  stumps  are 
found  equally  among  those  who  can  and  among 
those  who  cannot  “work  their  toes.”  Almost  al- 
ways when  the  will  is  exerted  to  move  the  toes, 
actual  contraction  may  be  perceived  in  the  muscles 
of  the  stump.  One  might,  therefore,  expect  that 
where  the  toe-moving  muscles  were  cut  off,  the  sense 
of  the  toes  being  moved  might  disappear.  But  this 
is  not  the  case.  I have  cases  of  thigh  amputation, 
in  which  all  the  foot-moving  muscles  are  gone,  and 
yet  in  which  the  feet  or  toes  seem  to  move  at  will. 
And  I have  cases  of  lower-leg  amputation  in  which, 
though  the  foot-moving  muscles  contract  in  the 
stump,  the  toes  or  feet  feel  motionless. 

But  although,  in  a gross  sense,  we  are  thus  forced 
to  conclude  that  neither  the  state  of  the  stump  nor 
the  place  of  the  amputation  absolutely  determines 
the  differences  of  consciousness  which  different  in- 
dividuals show,  it  is  nevertheless  hard  to  believe 

289 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1887] 


that  they  are  not  among  the  more  important  in- 
fluencing conditions  of  the  illusion  which  we  are 
studying.  On  a 'priori  grounds  it  seems  as  if  they 
must  be  so.  What  is  the  phenomenon?  It  is  what 
is  commonly  known  as  the  extradition,  or  projection 
outwards,  of  a sensation  whose  immediate  condition 
is  the  stimulation  of  a central  organ  of  perception 
by  an  incoming  nerve  or  nerves.  As  the  optical 
centres  respond  to  stimulation  by  the  feeling  of 
forms  and  colors  and  the  acoustic  centres  by  that  of 
sounds,  so  do  certain  other  centres  respond  by  the 
feeling  of  a foot,  with  its  toes,  heel,  etc.  This  feel- 
ing is  what  Johannes  Muller  called  the  “specific 
energy”  of  the  neural  tracts  involved.  It  makes  no 
difference  how  the  tracts  are  excited,  that  feeling 
of  a foot  is  their  only  possible  response.  So  long  as 
they  feel  at  all,  what  they  feel  is  the  foot.1  In  the 

1 It  would  seem  that,  even  in  the  case  of  congenital  defect  of 
the  extremities,  the  brain-centres  might  feel  in  the  usual  an- 
cestral way.  “A  nineteen-year-old  girl  and  a man  in  the  forties, 
who  had  each  but  one  normal  hand,  the  other,  instead  of  fingers, 
having  only  little  prominences  of  skin  without  bones  or  muscles, 
thought  they  bent  their  absent  fingers  when  they  bent  the  de- 
formed stump.  Tickling  these  eminences,  or  binding  a string 
about  the  forearm,  caused  the  same  sensations  as  in  amputated 
persons,  and  a pressure  on  the  ulnar  nerve  made  the  outer 
fingers  tingle.  In  the  same  way  persons  born  with  a much 
shortened  arm  have  stated  the  length  of  this  member  to  be 
greater  than  it  really  was.  An  individual  whose  right  forearm 
almost  entirely  failed,  so  that  the  dwarfed  hand  seemed  to 
spring  from  the  elbow,  was  conscious  of  the  misshapen  arm 
as  normal  and  almost  as  long  as  the  other.”  I quote  this  re- 
markable passage  from  Valentin’s  Lehrbucli  der  Pliysiologie, 
Vol.  II.,  p.  609.  Valentin  gives  a number  of  references  to  the 
contemporaneous  literature  of  the  subject,  and  his  own  remarks, 
which  occupy  several  pages,  are  well  worth  reading,  even  now. 


290 


[1887]  CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  LOST  LIMBS 

normal  state  the  foot  thus  felt  is  located  where  the 
eye  can  see  and  the  hand  touch  it.  When  the  foot 
which  the  eye  sees  and  the  hand  touches  is  cut  off, 
still  the  immediate  inner  feeling  of  it  persists  so 
long  as  the  brain-centres  retain  their  functions ; and 
in  the  absence  of  any  counter-motive,  it  ought,  one 
would  think,  to  continue  located  about  where  it  used 
to  be.  There  would  be  a counter-motive,  if  nerves 
which  in  the  unamputated  man  went  to  the  foot  and 
were  excited  every  time  the  foot  was  touched,  were 
to  find  themselves,  after  the  amputation,  excited 
every  time  the  stump  was  touched.  The  foot-feeling 
(which  the  nerves  would  continue  to  give)  being 
then  associated  with  the  stump-contacts,  would  end 
(by  virtue  of  a law  of  perception  of  which  I made 
mention  in  Mind  for  1887,  p.  196 ) 1 by  locating  itself 
at  the  place  at  which  those  contacts  were  believed, 
on  the  testimony  of  the  eye  and  the  hand,  to  occur. 
In  other  words,  the  foot-feeling  would  fuse  with  the 
feeling  resident  in  the  stump.  In  but  few  cases  does 
this  seem  to  occur;2  and  the  reason  is  easily  found. 
At  the  places  where  the  amputation  is  apt  to  be 
made,  the  nerves  which  supply  the  foot  are  all  buried 
deeply  in  the  tissues.  Superficial  contact  with  the 
stump  never  excites,  therefore,  the  sensibility  of  the 
foot-nerves.  All  ordinary  contacts  of  the  stump, 
thus  failing  to  awaken  the  foot-feeling  in  any  notice- 

[ 'Of.  Principles  (1890),  Vol.  II.,  pp.  183-184.  Ed.] 

2 1 bare  found  none.  Dr.  Mitchell  reports  one  at  least, 
in  which  the  lost  hand  lay  “seemingly  vntliin  the  stump” 
(p.  356.  Cf.  also  p.  351).  This  was  an  upper-arm  amputation. 


291 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0887] 


able  way,  that  feeling  fails  to  grow  associated  with 
the  stump’s  experiences;  and  when  (on  exceptional 
occasions)  deep  pressure  of  the  stump  awakens  not 
only  its  own  local  cutaneous  feeling  but  the  foot- 
feelings  due  to  the  deeper-lying  nerve,  the  two  feel- 
ings still  keep  distinct  in  location  as  in  quality. 

There  is,  usually,  in  fact,  a positive  reason  against 
their  local  fusion.  More  than  one  of  my  correspon- 
dents writes  that  the  lost  foot  is  best  felt  when  the 
end  of  the  stump  receives  the  thrust  of  the  artificial 
leg.  Whenever  the  old  foot  is  thus  most  felt  at  the 
moment  when  the  artificial  foot  is  seen  to  touch  the 
ground,  that  place  of  contact  (being  both  important 
and  interesting)  should  be  the  place  with  which  the 
foot-feeling  would  associate  itself  (by  virtue  of  the 
mental  law  already  referred  to) . In  other  words,  we 
should  project  our  foot-feeling  upon  the  ground,  as 
we  used  to  before  we  lost  the  member,  and  we  should 
feel  it  follow  the  movements  of  the  artificial  limb.1 
An  observation  of  Dr.  Mitchell’s  corroborates  this 
view.  One  of  his  patients  “lost  his  leg  at  the  age  of 
eleven,  and  remembers  that  the  foot  by  degrees  ap- 
proached, and  at  last  reached  the  knee.  When  he  be- 
gan to  wear  an  artificial  leg  it  reassumed  in  time  its 
old  position,  and  he  is  never  at  present  aware  of  the 
leg  as  shortened,  unless  for  some  time  he  talks  and 
thinks  of  the  stump,  and  of  the  missing  leg,  when 

‘The  principle  here  is  the  same  as  that  by  which  we  project 
to  the  extremity  of  any  instrument  with  which  we  are  probing, 
tracing,  cutting,  etc.,  the  sensations  which  the  instrument  com- 
municates to  our  hand  when  it  presses  the  foreign  matter  with 
which  it  is  in  contact. 


292 


[1887]  CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  LOST  LIMBS 


. . . the  direction  of  attention  to  the  part  causes  a 
feeling  of  discomfort,  and  the  subjective  sensation 
of  active  and  unpleasant  movement  of  the  toes.  With 
these  feelings  returns  at  once  the  delusion  of  the 
foot  as  being  placed  at  the  knee.”1 

The  latter  half  of  this  man’s  experience  shows  that 
the  principles  I have  invoked  (though  probably 
quite  sound  as  far  as  they  go)  are  not  exhaustive, 
and  that,  between  fusion  with  the  stump  and  pro- 
jection to  the  end  of  the  artificial  limb,  the  inter- 
mediate positions  of  the  foot  remain  unaccounted 
for.  It  will  not  do  to  call  them  vague  remains  of  the 
old  normal  habit  of  projection,  for  often  they  are 
not  vague,  but  quite  precise.  Leaving  this  phenome- 
non on  one  side,  however,  let  us  see  what  more  our 
principles  can  do. 

In  the  first  place  they  oblige  us  to  invert  the  popu- 
lar way  of  looking  at  the  problem.  The  popular 
mind  wonders  how  the  lost  feet  can  still  be  felt. 
For  us,  the  cases  for  wonder  are  those  in  which  the 
lost  feet  are  not  felt.  The  first  explanation  which 
one  clutches  at,  for  the  loss,  is  that  the  nerve- 
centres  for  perception  may  degenerate  and  grow 
atrophic  when  the  sensory  nerve-terminations  which 
normally  stimulate  them  are  cut  off.  Extirpation 
of  the  eyeballs  causes  such  atrophy  in  the  occipital 
lobes  of  the  brain.  The  spinal  cord  has  been  re- 
peatedly found  shrunken  at  the  point  of  entrance  of 
the  nerves  from  amputated  limbs.  And  there  are 
a few  carefully  reported  cases  in  which  the  degener- 

1 Injuries  of  Nerves,  Philadelphia,  1872,  p.  352. 

293 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  OS87] 


ation  has  been  traced  ascending  to  the  cortical 
centres,  along  with  an  equal  number  of  cases  in 
which  no  such  ascending  degeneration  could  be 
found.1  A degenerated  centre  can  of  course  no 
longer  give  rise  to  its  old  feelings;  and  where  the 
centres  are  degenerated,  that  fact  explains  all- 
sufficiently  why  the  lost  member  can  no  longer  be 
felt.  But  it  is  impossible  to  range  all  the  cases  of 
non-feeling  under  this  head.  Some  of  them  date 
from  the  first  hours  after  the  operation,  when  de- 
generation is  out  of  the  question.  In  some  the 
perceptive  centres  are  proved  to  be  there  by  exciting 
electrically  the  nerve-trunks  buried  in  the  stump. 
“I  recently  faradized,”  says  Dr.  Mitchell,  “a  case 
of  disarticulated  shoulder  without  warning  my 
patient  of  the  possible  result.  For  two  years  he  had 
altogether  ceased  to  feel  the  limb.  As  the  current 
affected  the  brachial  plexus  of  nerves  he  suddenly 
cried  aloud,  ‘Oh  the  hand, — the  hand!’  and  at- 
tempted to  seize  the  missing  member.  The  phantom 
I had  conjured  up  swiftly  disappeared,  but  no  spirit 
could  have  more  amazed  the  man,  so  real  did  it 
seem.”2 

In  such  a case  as  this  last,  the  only  hypothesis 
that  remains  to  us  is  to  suppose  that  the  nerve-ends 
are  so  softly  embedded  in  the  stump  as,  under  or- 
dinary conditions,  to  carry  up  no  impressions  to  the 
brain,  or  none  strong  enough  to  be  noticeable. 
Were  they  carried,  the  patient  would  feel,  and  feel 

1 Frangois-Franck : LeQons  sur  les  Fonctions  Matrices  <lu  Cer- 
veau,  1887,  p.  291. 

2 Op.  cit.,  p.  349. 

294 


[1887]  CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  LOST  LIMBS 


a foot.  Not  feeling  the  foot,  and  yet  being  capable 
of  feeling  it  (as  the  faradization  proves),  it  must 
be  either  that  no  impressions  are  carried,  or  else  that 
for  some  reason  they  do  not  appeal  to  conscious- 
ness. Now  it  is  a general  law  of  consciousness  that 
feelings  of  which  we  make  no  practicable  use  tend 
to  become  more  and  more  overlooked.  Helmholtz 
has  explained  our  habitual  insensibility  to  double 
images,  to  the  so-called  muscce  volitantes  caused  by 
specks  in  the  humors  of  the  eye,  to  the  upper  har- 
monics which  accompany  various  sounds,  as  so 
many  effects  of  the  persistent  abstraction  of  our 
attention  from  impressions  which  are  of  no  use.  It 
may  be  that  in  certain  subjects  this  sort  of  abstrac- 
tion is  able  to  complete  our  oblivescence  of  a lost 
foot;  our  feeling  of  it  has  been  already  reduced 
almost  to  the  vanishing  point,  by  reason  of  the 
shielded  condition  of  the  nerve-ends,  just  assigned. 
The  feeling  of  the  lost  foot  tells  us  absolutely  noth- 
ing which  can  practically  be  of  use  to  us.1  It  is  a 
superfluous  item  in  our  conscious  baggage.  Why 
may  it  not  be  that  some  of  us  are  able  to  cast  it  out 
of  our  mind  on  that  account?  Until  a few  years 
ago  all  oculists  believed  that  a similar  superfluity, 
namely,  the  second  set  of  images  seen  by  the  squint- 
ing eye  in  squinters,  was  cast  out  of  consciousness 
so  persistently  that  the  eye  grew  actually  blind. 
And,  although  the  competency  of  the  explanation 
has  probably  been  disproved  as  regards  the  blind- 

1 Except  the  approach  of  storms ; but  then  it  is  in  cases  where 
the  feeling  is  preserved. 


295 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0887] 


ness,  yet  tliere  is  no  doubt  that  it  is  quite  competent 
to  prove  an  almost  invincible  unconsciousness  of  the 
images  cast  upon  a squinting  eye. 

Unconsciousness  from  habitual  inattention  is, 
then,  probably  one  factor  in  the  oblivescence  of  lost 
extremities, — a factor  which,  however,  we  must  re- 
gard as  unavailing  where  impressions  from  the 
nerve-ends  are  strong.1 

Let  us  next  consider  the  differences  in  regard  to 
the  illusion  of  voluntary  movement  in  the  lost  parts. 
Most  of  the  patients  who  seem  to  themselves  able  to 
move  their  lost  feet,  hands,  etc.,  at  will,  produce  a 
distinct  contraction  of  the  muscles  of  the  stump 
whenever  they  make  the  voluntary  effort.  As  the 
principle  of  specific  energies  easily  accounted  for 
the  consciousness  of  the  lost  limb  being  there  at  all, 
so  here  another  principle,  almost  as  universally 
adopted  by  psychologists,  accounts  as  easily  for  the 
consciousness  of  movement  in  it,  and  leaves  the  real 

1 1 have  quoted  my  hundred  and  forty-odd  patients  as  feeling 
their  lost  member,  as  if  they  all  felt  it  positively.  But  many 
of  those  who  say  they  feel  it  seem  to  feel  it  dubiously.  Either 
they  only  feel  it  occasionally,  or  only  when  it  pains  them,  or  only 
when  they  try  to  move  it ; or  they  only  feel  it  when  they  “think 
a good  deal  about  it”  and  make  an  effort  to  conjure  it  up. 
When  they  “grow  inattentive,”  the  feeling  “flies  back,”  or 
“jumps  back  to  the  stump.”  Every  degree  of  consciousness,  from 
complete  and  permanent  hallucination,  down  to  something 
hardly  distinguishable  from  ordinary  fancy,  seems  represented 
in  the  sense  of  the  missing  extremity  which  these  patients  say 
they  have.  Indeed  I have  seldom  seen  a more  plausible  lot  of 
evidence  for  the  view  that  imagination  and  sensation  are  but 
differences  of  vividness  in  an  identical  process,  than  these  con- 
fessions, taking  them  altogether,  contain.  Many  patients  say 
they  can  hardly  tell  whether  they  feel  or  fancy  the  limb. 


296 


[1S87]  CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  LOST  LIMBS 


puzzle  to  reside  rather  in  those  cases  in  which  the 
illusion  of  movement  fails  to  exist. 

The  principle  I refer  to  is  that  of  the  inheritance 
of  ancestral  habit.  It  is  all  but  unanimously  ad- 
mitted at  the  present  day  that  any  two  experiences, 
which  during  ancestral  generations  have  been  in- 
variably coupled  together,  will  have  become  so  in- 
dissolubly associated  that  the  descendant  will  not 

be  able  to  represent  them  in  his  mind  apart.  Now 

* 

of  all  possible  coupled  experiences  it  is  hard  to 
imagine  any  pair  more  uniformly  and  incessantly 
coupled  than  the  feeling  of  effected  contraction 
of  muscles,  on  the  one  hand,  and  that  of  the  changed 
position  of  the  parts  which  they  move,  on  the  other. 
From  the  earliest  ancestors  of  ours  which  had  feet, 
down  to  the  present  day,  the  movement  of  the  feet 
must  always  have  accompanied  the  contraction  of 
the  muscles;  and  here,  if  anywhere,  habit’s  heredi- 
tary consequences  ought  to  be  found,  if  the  principle 
that  habits  are  transmitted  from  one  generation  to 
another  is  sound  at  all.1  No  sooner  then  should  the 
brain-centres  for  perceiving  muscular  contractions 
be  excited,  than  those  other  centres  functionally 
consolidated  with  them  ought  to  share  the  excite- 
ment, and  produce  a consciousness  that  the  foot 

1 In  saying  tliat  if  it  is  sound,  then  the  explanation  which  I 
offer  follows,  I wish  to  retain  reserved  rights  as  to  the  general 
question  of  its  soundness,  regarding  which  evidence  seems  to 
me  as  yet  somewhat  incomplete.  But  the  explanation  which  I 
offer  could  base  itself  on  the  invariable  associations  of  the  in- 
dividual’s experience,  even  if  the  hereditary  transmission  of 
habitual  associations  proved  not  to  be  a law  of  nature. 


297 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0887] 


lias  moved.  If  it  be  objected  to  this  that  this  latter 
consciousness  ought  to  be  ideal  rather  than  sensa- 
tional in  character,  and  ought  therefore  not  to  pro- 
duce a fully  developed  illusion,  it  is  sufficient  to 
point  to  what  happens  in  many  illusions  of  the  same 
type.  In  these  illusions  the  mind,  sensibly  im- 
pressed by  what  seems  a part  of  a certain  probable 
fact,  forthwith  perceives  that  fact  in  its  entirety. 
The  parts  supplied  by  the  mind  are  in  these  cases  no 
whit  inferior  in  vividness  and  reality  to  those  act- 
ually impressing  the  sense.1  In  all  perception,  in- 
deed, but  half  of  the  object  comes  from  without. 
The  larger  half  usually  comes  out  of  our  own  head. 
We  can  ourselves  produce  an  illusion  of  movement 
similar  to  those  which  we  are  studying  by  putting 
some  unyielding  substance  (hard  rubber,  e.g.)  be- 
tween our  back  teeth  and  biting  hard.  It  is  difficult 
not  to  believe  that  our  front  teeth  approach  each 
other,  when  we  feel  our  biting  muscles  contract.2  In 

JTliey  are  vivid  and  real  in  proportion  to  the  inveterateness 
of  their  association  with  the  parts  which  impress  the  sense. 
The  most  perfect  illusions  are  those  of  false  motion,  relief,  or 
concavity,  changed  size,  distance,  etc.,  produced  when,  by  arti- 
ficial means,  an  object  gives  us  sensations,  or  forces  us  to  move 
our  eyes  in  ways  ordinarily  suggestive  of  the  presence  of  an 
entirely  different  object.  We  see  then  the  latter  object  directly 
although  it  is  not  there.  The  after-image  of  a rectangular 
cross,  of  a circle,  change  their  shapes  when  we  project  them 
on  to  an  oblique  surface ; and  the  new  shape,  which  is  demon- 
strably a reproduction  of  earlier  sense-impressions,  feels  just 
like  a present  sense-impression. 

2 See  for  another  example  Sternberg,  in  Pfliiger’s  Archiv,  Bd. 
37,  S.  1.  The  author  even  goes  so  far  as  to  lay  down  as  a general 
rule  that  we  ordinarily  judge  a movement  to  be  executed  as 
soon  as  we  have  given  the  impulse. 


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[1887]  CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  LOST  LIMBS 


ourselves  the  feeling  of  the  real  position  of  the  jaws 
persists  unchanged  to  contradict  the  false  sug- 
gestion. But  when  we  recall  that  in  the  amputated 
no  such  positive  contradiction  can  occur,  since  the 
parts  are  gone,  we  see  how  much  easier  it  must  be 
in  their  case  for  the  false  sense  of  movement  to 
flourish  unchecked.1 

But  how,  then,  comes  it  that  there  can  be  any 
patients  who  lack  the  false  sense  in  question?  In 
one  hundred  and  forty  of  my  cases,  about  fifty 
lacked  it  completely;  and  even  when  the  stump- 
muscles  contract  violently,  many  patients  are  un- 
able to  feel  any  change  at  all  in  the  position  of  the 
imaginary  extremity.  This  is  not  due  to  the  fact 
that  the  amputation  is  made  above  the  origin  of  the 
hand-or-foot-moving  muscles;  for  there  are  eleven 
cases  where  these  muscles  remain  and  contract,  but 
yet  no  sense  of  movement  exists.  I must  say  that 
I can  offer  no  clear  solution  of  this  anomaly.  It 
must  be  left  over,  together  with  those  obstinate 


1 Out  of  the  ninety-eight  of  my  cases  who  feel  their  limbs  to 
move,  there  are  forty-three  who  can  produce  no  feeling  of  move- 
ment in  the  lost  extremity  without  visibly  contracting  the 
muscles  of  the  stump.  But  (leaving  out  doubtful  cases)  twelve 
of  the  others  positively  affirm  that,  after  the  most  careful  exam- 
ination, no  contractions  can  be  detected  in  the  stump,  whilst 
yet  the  extremity  seems  to  move  at  will.  One  such  case  I ob- 
served myself.  The  man  had  an  amputation  of  the  upper  arm. 
He  seemed  to  himself  to  flex  his  fingers  at  will ; but  I could 
perceive  no  change  whatever  in  the  stump.  The  thought  of  the 
movement  seemed  here  a sufficient  suggestion ; as  in  those  anaes- 
thetic cases  where  the  patient  thinks  of  a movement  and  wills 
it,  and  then  (if  his  eyes  are  closed)  fancies  it  executed,  even 
though  the  limb  be  held  still  by  the  bystanders. 


299 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  BEVIEWS  t188D 


cases  of  partial  apparent  shortening  of  which  we 
spoke  above,  for  future  investigators  to  treat. 

One  reflection,  however,  seems  pertinent  to  the 
entire  set  of  phenomena  we  have  studied.  They 
form  a group  in  which  the  variations  from  one  in- 
dividual to  another,  if  they  exist  at  all,  are  likely 
to  become  extreme.  Darwin  notices  that  no  organs 
in  animals  are  so  subject  to  variation  as  rudimen- 
tary organs.  Being  functionless,  selection  has  no 
hold  on  them,  the  environment  exerts  no  influence  to 
keep  them  up  (or  down)  to  the  proper  standard, 
and  the  consequence  is  that  their  aberrations  are 
unchecked.  Now  phantasms  of  lost  legs  and  arms 
are  to  the  mental  organism  just  what  rudimentary 
organs  are  to  the  bodily  organism.  They  have  no 
longer  any  real  relations  with  the  environment, 
being  mere  vestiges  of  something  which  formerly 
had  real  relations.  The  environment  does  not  cor- 
rect such  a phantasm  for  any  odd  course  it  may  get 
into.  If  it  slips  away  altogether,  the  environment 
lets  it  go,  and  doesn’t  call  it  back.  If  it  happen  “by 
accident”  to  harden  itself  in  a fixed  position,  or 
shorten  itself,  or  to  dissolve  connection  with  its  an- 
cestral associates  in  the  way  of  muscular  feeling, 
the  accident  is  not  repaired ; and  experience,  which 
throughout  the  rest  of  our  mental  life  puts  prompt 
bounds  to  too  great  eccentricity,  here  lets  it  lux- 
uriate unrebuked.  I do  not  know  how  far  one  ought 
to  push  this  idea.  But  (what  we  can  call  by  no  better 
name  but)  accident  or  idiosyncrasy  certainly  plays 
a great  part  in  all  our  neural  and  mental  processes, 


300 


[1887]  CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  LOST  LIMBS 


especially  the  higher  ones.  We  can  never  seek 
among  these  processes  for  results  which  shall  be 
invariable.  Exceptions  remain  to  every  empirical 
law  of  our  mental  life,  and  can  only  be  treated  as 
so  many  individual  aberrations.  It  is  perhaps  some- 
thing to  have  pointed  out  the  department  of  lost- 
limb-consciousness  as  that  in  which  the  aberrant  in- 
dividuals are  likely  to  reach  their  maximum  number. 

The  apparent  changes  of  temperature  of  the  lost 
parts  form  an  interesting  chapter,  which,  however, 
I will  not  discuss.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  in  many 
patients  the  lost  foot  can  be  made  to  feel  warm  or 
cold  by  warming  or  cooling  the  stump.  A draught 
of  air  on  the  stump  produces  the  feeling  of  a draught 
on  the  foot.  The  lost  foot  also  sympathizes  some- 
times with  the  foot  which  remains.  If  one  is  cold, 
the  other  feels  cold.  One  man  writes  that  when- 
ever he  walks  through  puddles  and  wets  his  sound 
foot,  his  lost  foot  feels  wet  too. 

My  final  observations  are  on  a matter  which  ought 
to  interest  students  of  “psychic  research.”  Surely 
if  there  be  any  distant  material  object  with  which 
a man  might  be  supposed  to  have  clairvoyant  or 
telepathic  relations,  that  object  ought  to  be  his  own 
cut-off  arm  or  leg.  Accordingly,  a very  wide-spread 
belief  will  have  it,  that  when  the  cut-off  limb  is 
maltreated  in  any  way,  the  man,  no  matter  where 
he  is,  will  feel  the  injury.  I have  nearly  a score  of 
communications  on  this  point,  some  believing,  more 
incredulous.  One  man  tells  of  experiments  of  warm- 
ing, etc.,  which  the  doctor  in  an  adjoining  room 


301 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  EE  VIEWS  0887] 


made  on  the  freshly  cut-off  leg,  without  his  knowl- 
edge, and  of  which  his  feelings  gave  him  no  sus- 
picion. Of  course,  did  such  telepathic  rapport 
exist,  it  need  not  necessarily  be  found  in  every  case. 
But  in  none  of  the  cases  of  my  collection  in  which 
the  writers  seek  to  prove  it  does  their  conclusion 
inspire  confidence.  All  (with  perhaps  one  excep- 
tion which,  unfortunately,  I have  lost)  are  vaguely 
told;  and,  indeed,  among  all  the  pains  which  come 
and  go  in  the  first  weeks  of  amputation,  it  would  be 
strange  if  some  did  not  coincide  with  events  happen- 
ing to  the  buried  or  “pickled”  limb.  One  man  writes 
me  that  he  has  dug  up  his  buried  leg  eight  times, 
and  changed  its  position.  He  asks  me  to  advise  him 
whether  to  dig  it  up  again,  saying  he  “dreads  to.” 
In  concluding,  I repeat  that  I have  been  able  to 
throw  no  new  light  of  a positive  sort  on  those  in- 
dividual differences,  the  explanation  of  which  was 
the  aim  of  my  inquiry.  I have,  perhaps,  by  invoking 
certain  well-known  principles,  succeeded  in  making 
the  fundamental  illusions,  that  of  the  existence, 
and  that  of  the  movement  of  the  lost  part,  seem 
less  paradoxical,  and  the  exceptions  to  these  il- 
lusions less  odd  than  they  have  hitherto  appeared. 
But,  on  the  whole,  I leave  the  subject  where  I took 
it  up  from  Dr.  Weir  Mitchell’s  hands;  and  one  of 
the  main  effects  of  the  investigation  on  my  own 
mind  is  admiration  for  the  manner  in  which  he 
wrote  about  it  fifteen  years  ago. 


302 


XVIII 


REPONSE  AUX  REMARQUES  DE  M. 
RENOUVIER,  SUR  SA  THEORIE 
DE  LA  VOLONTE 1 
[1888] 

Cher  monsieur, — 

Je  suis  extremement  sensible  a l’honneur  grand  et 
peu  merite  que  vous  m’avez  fait  en  presentant  an 
public  frangais  mon  petit  article  snr  la  volonte,  et 
en  le  faisant  suivre  d’un  commentaire  si  flatteur. 
Je  suis  cependant  un  si  pauvre  faiseur  de  phrases 
que  je  n’essaierai  pas  d’exprimer  ma  gratitude;  je 
vous  prierai  simplement  de  m’aecorder  une  page  ou 
deux  de  votre  revue  pour  des  explications  & donner 
au  sujet  de  vos  Remarques.  Je  serai  aussi  bref  que 
je  le  pourrai. 

t1  Reprinted  from  La  Critique  Philosophique,  1888,  nouv. 
sdrie,  4me  annee,  2,  401^04.  Renouvier’s  “Remarks”  appeared 
in  ibid.,  pp.  117-126,  and  were  occasioned  by  the  publication 
of  a translation  of  James’s  “What  the  Will  Effects”  (1888)  in 
ibid.,  1,  401-420.  For  James’s  acknowledgment  of  Lotze’s 
priority  in  this  subject,  cf.  also  the  Principles  (1890),  II,  523, 
note.  The  following  note  was  appended  to  the  title  by  the  Editor 
of  La  Critique  Philosophique:  “Voyez  les  numeros  6 et  8 de  la 
Critique  philosophique  de  la  presente  ann£e. — L’insertion  de 
l’aimable  et  interessante  lettre  de  M.  William  James  a ete  re- 
tardde  par  le  desir  que  nous  avons  eu  d’y  joindre  une  traduc- 
tion des  passages  importants  signales  par  ce  dernier  dans  la 
Medicinische  psychologic  de  Lotze.”  The  passages  referred  to 
are  published  in  the  same  issue  of  La  Critique  Philosophique, 
and  are  accompanied  by  “Quelques  mots  sur  la  lettre  qui 
pr6c6de,”  by  Renouvier.  Ed.] 


303 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  CS88] 


Preincrement,  en  ce  qui  concerne  mon  originality, 
Lotze  a et4,  antant  que  je  sache,  le  premier  & formu- 
ler  elairement  la  relation  entre  representation,  voli- 
tion et  monvement  effectue.  On  tronvera  les  pas- 
sages dans  les  §§  266-7-8  de  sa  Medicinische  psy- 
chologic, publiee  en  1852.  Votre  propre  formula- 
tion, qui  n’est  pas  essentiellement  plus  profonde, 
h ce  qu’il  me  semble,  mais  qui  est  beaucoup  plus 
explicite,  a ete  publiee  sept  ans  plus  tard,  mais 
obtenue  d’une  maniere  independante.  Mes  propres 
idees  se  sont  formees  bien  posterieurement,  par  la 
lecture  et  de  votre  ouvrage  et  de  celui  de  Lotze; 
de  sorte  que  je  n’ai  sur  ce  point  ni  independance  ni 
originalite  quelconque. 

Secondement,  touchant  Vcspece  de  representation 
d’un  mouvement  & laquelle  le  mouvement  actuel 
fait  suite,  je  m’en  suis  explique,  dans  mon  article, 
comme  si  elle  devait  se  composer  des  souvenirs  des 
sensations  internes  engendrees  par  les  mouvements 
passes  dans  les  parties  mouvantes  elles-mymes.  Mon 
article,  ayant  ete  ecrit  pour  un  recueil  populaire, 
a du  etre  simplifie  outre  mesure,  comme  de  coutume 
en  pareil  cas;  et,  dans  ce  cas-ci,  j’ai  pris  une  des 
espdces  de  l’idee  motrice  pour  tenir  la  place  du  genre 
tout  entier.  Vous  avez  absolument  raison  de  pro- 
tester contre  cette  vue  etroite.  II  est  certain,  ainsi 
que  vous  y insistez,  que  le  dernier  phenomene  psy- 
cliique  qui  precede  un  mouvement  peut  ytre  et  est 
souvent  une  image  des  effets  externes  du  mouvement 
sur  l’ceil,  Foreille  ou  quelque  partie  eloignee  du 
corps.  Nos  mouvements  volontaires  de  vocalisation 


304 


[1888]  EE  MARQUES  DE  M.  REUOUVIER 


paraissent  £tre  instigues  par  des  images  acousti- 
qnes.  Ceux  des  mouvements  de  nos  membres  qni 
nons  sont  le  plus  liabituels  sont  dus  ordinairement 
k des  images  optiques.  Lorsque  je  desire  tout  d’un 
coup  toucher  du  doigt  un  point  dans  l’espace,  j’ai 
plus  fortement  conscience  de  l’endroit  (of  where ) 
oh  la  place  de  ce  point  parait  etre,  h mon  ceil,  que 
de  la  maniere  (of  how)  dont  mon  bras  et  ma  main 
doivent  sentir  quand  je  le  touche.  On  pourrait 
objecter  qu’il  y a des  faits  ici  qui  echappent  h notre 
conscience  introspective;  qu’une  image  tactile  des 
sensations  internes  attendues  dans  le  membre  doit 
intervenir  entre  l’image  optique  de  cette  place  et 
le  mouvement  execute;  mais  que  cette  image  tac- 
tile est  si  rapidement  supplantee  par  les  sensations 
internes  actuelles,  pendant  que  le  mouvement 
s’effectue,  que  nous  manquons  k en  prendre  con- 
naissance  comme  d’un  phenomene  independant. 
Ceci  est  une  hypothese  qui  merite  consideration; 
elle  doit  avoir  un  resultat  experimentalement  veri- 
fiable. Si  une  personne  h laquelle  un  signal  est 
donne  fait  un  mouvement  qui  laisse  une  marque  sur 
un  appareil  chronographique,  elle  obtient  une  me- 
sure  de  ce  qu’on  appelle  le  “temps  physiologique” 
de  ce  mouvement  particulier.  Or,  si  l’on  compare 
deux  mouvements  (semblables  d’ailleurs)  dont  Pun 
est  represente  d’avance  pour  nous  en  termes  opti- 
ques, ou  “externes,”  l’autre  en  termes  tactiles,  ou 
“internes,”  le  premier  doit  avoir  le  temps  physiolo- 
gique le  plus  long,  dans  la  theorie  que  nous  dis- 
cutons,  parce  que  la  suggestion  rapide  qu’elle  sup- 


305 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0888] 


pose  de  l’image  tactile  est  un  evenement  auquel  rien 
ne  correspond  dans  le  cas  on  la  representation  est 
consciemment  tactile  des  le  debut.  Je  me  suis  oc- 
cupe  quelque  temps,  il  y a plusieurs  annees,  d’exe- 
cuter  des  mesures  comparatives  de  ce  genre.  Je 
regrette  de  dire  qu’il  ne  m’a  pas  ete  possible  de 
decouvrir  une  forme  d’experience  assez  affrancliie 
de  complications  secondaires  pour  me  donner  des 
resultats  utilisables. 

Toutefois,  je  dirai  que  je  n’ai  trouve  aucune  raison 
de  soupgonner  que  le  temps  fut  allonge  lorsque 
l’idee  motrice  etait  optique ; non  plus  que  l’attention 
introspective  que  j’ai  du  alors  accorder  h l’operation 
n’a  tendu  h me  confirmer  dans  l’idee  qu’une  image 
tactile  latente  y intervient  tou jours.  Loin  de  la, 
c’est  alors  que  pour  la  premiere  fois  je  me  suis  mis 
fortement  h douter  de  cette  idee. 

Pendent  ce  temps,  mon  collegue  le  professeur 
Bowditch  a fait  avec  le  docteur  Southard  des  ex- 
periences qui  semblent  montrer  que,  quelquefois  au 
moins,  il  n’intervient  aucune  image  tactile.  Ces 
physiologistes  out  trouve  qu’ils  pouvaient,  les  yeux 
ferines,  toucher  avec  plus  de  precision  un  point  mar- 
que sur  la  table,  lorsqu’ils  l’avaient  simplement 
regarde  que  lorsqu’ils  l’avaient  simplement  touche 
un  moment  auparavant.  Pour  le  docteur  S.  l’erreur 
moyenne,  avec  le  toucher,  etait  de  17  millimetres 
contre  12  millimetres  avec  le  vue.1  Il  est  certain 
qu’ici  une  rapide  image  tactile  ne  pouvait  s’etre 

1 Ce  travail  a ete  public  dans  le  Journal  of  Physiology,  Vol. 
III.,  No.  3. 


306 


[1S88]  REMARQUES  de  m.  renouvier 


placee  comme  inoven  de  passage  entre  l’image 
optique  et  la  decharge  motrice.  Comment  la  physi- 
ologie  du  ceryeau  s’accommodera  de  ces  faits,  c’est 
une  question  qui  regarde  les  physiologistes ; ils 
devront  dans  tous  les  cas  admettre  que  le  proces 
ideationnel  qui  precede  immediatement  et  provoque 
un  proces  moteur  peut  quelquefois  etre  nn  proces 
d’imagination  optique. 

Troisiemement,  je  youdrais  dire  un  mot  de  ma  re- 
duction de  toutes  les  actions  psycMques  au  type 
reflexe.  Je  ne  suis  pas  sur  que,  quand  j’affirme  et 
que  vous  niez,  nous  pretions  aux  memes  mots  les 
memes  significations.  J’entends,  pour  le  faire  bref, 
que  l’objet  de  la  pensee,  a tout  instant  donne,  fait 
partie  d’une  chaine  d’objets  successivement  sug- 
geres  qui  peuvent  etre  suivis,  en  remontant,  jusqu’h 
quelque  sensation  regue,  et  qui  se  termineront  tot 
ou  tard  a quelque  modification  de  notre  mouyement. 
Par  exemple,  mes  pensees  presentes  peuvent  etre 
suivies,  en  remontant,  jusqu’a  l'impression  causee 
dernierement  sur  ma  retine  par  vos  paroles  im- 
primees,  et  se  dechargent,  en  ce  moment  meme,  en 
des  mouvements  de  mes  doigts  qui  tiennent  la 
plume.  La  succession  de  nos  objets  mentaux  est,  je 
le  crois  fermement,  expliquee  par  le  fait  physio- 
logique  q’un  proces  cerebral  en  eveille  un  autre, 
suivant  des  voies  en  partie  organisees  par  une 
formation  interne,  et  en  partie  tracees  par  l’experi- 
ence  organisee  par  une  formation  interne,  et  en 
partie  tracees  par  l’experience  externe ; — expliquee, 
dis-je,  en  ce  sens  que  nous  ne  pouvons  avoir  un  objet, 


307 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0888] 


duqnel  ces  yoies  ne  soient.  la  condition  de  possi- 
bilitc.  Mais  cette  dependance  par  rapport  it  des 
voies  materielles,  pour  la  possibility  de  nos  objets, 
n’implique  pas  necessairement  que  la  succession 
de  ces  derniers  soit  entierement  determinee  par  des 
lois  materielles.  On  n’a  simplement  qu’b  admettre 
que  la  conscience  qui  accompagne  les  proces  ma- 
teriels  peut  reagir  de  telle  maniere  qu’elle  ajoute 
k volonte  k l’intensite  ou  k la  duree  de  certains 
proces  particuliers;  un  cliamp  de  selection  s’ouvre 
aussitot,  qui  nous  mbne  bien  loin  de  la  determina- 
tion mecanique.  Un  proces  appuye  et  accentub  par 
la  conscience  eveillera  ses  propres  associes  et  pro- 
duira  ses  consequences,  h,  l’esclusion  des  autres,  et 
renchainement  des  pensees  prendra  de  la  sorte  une 
forme  entierement  differente  de  celle  qu’elle 
aurait  pu  prendre  si  la  conscience  n’eut  ete 
lb,  avec  son  efficacitb.  Soit  qu’il  existe  ou  non 
une  volonte-force,  avec  des  variations  indepen- 
dantes,  il  me  semble  qu’un  parfait  theatre  pour  son 
activite  est  fourni  par  un  systeme  de  voies  dans  les- 
quelles  des  courants  se  meuvent  et  produisent  des 
tensions  et  des  decharges.  La  force  independante 
n’a  besoin  que  d’altbrer  par  augmentation  ou  par 
diminution  la  tension  donnee  en  un  point,  pour 
changer  entierement  la  resultante  en  direction  de 
la  decharge.  Tout  ce  que  notre  libre  vouloir  peut 
legitimement  revendiquer,  c’est  de  disposer  de  possi- 
bilites  qui  nous  sont  offertes  en  maniere  d’alterna- 
tives  par  le  flux  mecanique  des  choses.  J’espere 
qu’en  ce  sens-la,  vous  ne  verrez  nulle  objection  b, 


308 


[1888]  REMARQUES  de  m.  renouvier 


etendre  la  notion  de  Faction  reflexe  h notre  vie  supe- 
rieure.  Si  librement  qu’un  acte  puisse  se  produire, 
sa  suggestion  premiere  est  certainement  due  a des 
courants  reflexes,  et  des  courants  reflexes  sont  ce 
qui  le  rend  actuel.  L’action  regulatrice  de  tels  cou- 
rants par  la  volonte  ne  peut  etre  autre  chose  qu’une 
selection  de  certains  d’entre  eux,  deja  tout  pres 
d’etre  un  peu  plus  forts  que  les  autres. 

Croyez-moi,  cher  monsieur,  etc. 

William  James. 

Cambridge  (Mass.)  U.  S.  of  A.,  23  septembre  1888. 


309 


XIX 


THE  PSYCHOLOGICAL  THEORY  OF 
EXTENSION  1 

[1SS9] 

Since  even  tlie  worm  will  “turn,”  the  space- 
theorist  can  hardly  be  expected  to  remain  motion- 
less when  his  Editor  stirs  him  up.  Had  I seen  my 
July  Mind  earlier  than  I did,  these  remarks  would 
have  been  in  time  for  the  October  number.  Ap- 
pearing in  January,  I can  only  hope  that  the  reader 
may  not  regard  them  as  reviving  an  issue  that  is 
stale.  The  Editor,  in  his  observations  on  “The  Psy- 
chological Theory  of  Extension”  in  No.  51,  made, 
as  it  seems  to  me,  some  admissions  that  ought  to  be 
recorded,  as  well  as  some  assumptions  that  ought 
to  be  questioned,  in  the  interests  of  clear  thinking 
in  this  dark  field.  One  admission  (if  I rightly 
understand  page  420)  amounts  to  nothing  less  than 
giving  up  the  whole  positive  and  constructive  part 
of  the  Brown-Bain-Spencer-Mill  theory  of  space- 
perception,  and  confessing  that  the  criticisms 
usually  made  upon  it  are  fatal.  That  theory  con- 

P Reprinted  from  Mind,  1889,  Ilf,  107-109.  Written  in  reply 
to  a criticism  by  G.  C.  Robertson,  the  Editor,  in  Mind,  1888,  IS, 
418-124,  of  James’s  articles  on  “The  Perception  of  Space,”  iMd., 
1887.  The  present  paper  is  a part  of  a general  discussion  pro- 
voked by  Robertson’s  criticism,  and  participated  in  by  James 
Ward,  among  others.  Ed.] 


310 


[1889] 


THEOEY  OF  EXTENSION 


tends  that  a variety  of  intensive  elements  can,  by 
grouping  [association]  assume  in  consciousness  the 
appearance  of  an  extended  order.  “How  is  the  trans- 
formation to  be  effected?  or  rather,  can  it  in  any 
way  be  effected?”  asks  the  Editor.  “I  do  not  know 
that  it  can,”  he  replies,  “if  sought  for  upon  that 
line.”  As  the  account  of  space-perception  by  these 
authors  is  usually  reckoned  one  of  the  greatest  tri- 
umphs of  the  Analytic  School  of  Psychology,  this 
defection,  by  a writer  whose  general  tendencies  are 
loyal  to  the  school,  is  worthy  of  emphatic  notice.  The 
Editor’s  second  admission  is,  that,  if  we  could  sup- 
pose ourselves  reduced  to  the  eye  with  its  explora- 
tory movements  as  our  sole  and  only  means  of  con- 
structing a spatial  order,  such  a construction  might 
come  to  pass  (p.  424) — an  admission  quite  at  vari- 
ance with  the  widely  prevalent  notion  that  analytic 
psychology  has  proved  the  space-perceptions  of  the 
eye  to  be  but  reproduced  experiences  of  touch  and 
locomotion.  So  many  doctrines  reign  by  the  mere 
inertia  of  supposed  authority,  that  when,  as  in  these 
two  points,  the  chain  of  authority  gets  broken, 
public  attention  should  be  drawn  to  the  fact. 

The  chief  assumption  of  the  Editor’s  which  I wish 
to  question  is  his  proposition  that,  although  ex- 
periences of  an  intensive  order  will  not  by  them- 
selves acquire  the  extensive  character,  they  will  yet, 
if  so  experienced  as  to  be  referred  to  an  object  (in 
the  sense  of  “bare  obstacle  to  muscular  activity  of  a 
touching  organ”),  begin  to  assume  that  character. 
If  we  construe  this  view  definitely,  everything  about 


311 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  [1889] 


it  seems  to  me  questionable.  Either  the  obstacle 
feels  big  originally  or  it  does  not.  If  it  have  origi- 
nally no  bigness,  the  same  difficulty  arises  which  the 
Editor  admits  to  be  fatal  to  ordinary  theory : how 
can  intensive  elements  be  transformed  into  an  ex- 
tensive result?  If,  on  the  contrary,  the  obstacle 
have  a sensible  bigness,  then,  of  course,  that  would 
explain  how  the  touch  of  it,  the  look  of  it,  or  any 
other  sensation  which  the  mind  incorporates  in  it, 
should  share  the  bigness  and  appear  itself  extended. 
But  then  the  question  would  arise — Why  on  earth 
should  this  feeling  of  muscular  resistance  be  the 
only  one  which  originally  comes  to  us  with  a big- 
ness? What  grounds  a posteriori  or  a priori  can  we 
show  for  assigning  to  it  so  pre-eminent  an  advan- 
tage, in  the  teeth  of  all  the  spontaneous  appear- 
ances, which  make  us  feel  as  if  the  blueness  of  the 
sky  were  spread  out  in  itself,  and  as  if  the  rolling  of 
the  thunder  or  the  soreness  of  an  abscess  were  intrin- 
sically great?  But  the  Editor  keeps  his  whole  ac- 
count so  studiously  and  cautiously  vague  that  I 
confess  I find  it  hard  to  construe  his  obstacle-object 
as  definitely  as  this.  It  must,  he  says,  not  be  treated 
as  external  “at  the  outset,”  for  the  mere  experience 
of  resisted  muscular  activity  is  analysable  into  ele- 
ments “which  are  found  to  be  merely  intensive — 
intensity  of  passive  touch  varying  with  intensity  of 
effort  ” (p.  421).  Nevertheless  touch  and  effort  are 
so  related  as  to  “suggest  a cleft  in  conscious  experi- 
ence, which  has  but  to  be  widened  and  defined  for 
the  opposition  of  self  and  not-self  to  be  established.” 

312 


[1889] 


THEORY  OF  EXTENSION 


It  is  when  referred  to  the  “not-self”  of  the  experi- 
ence thus  defined  that  the  originally  intensive  quali- 
ties of  touch,  look,  sound,  etc.,  begin,  according  to 
the  Editor,  to  appear  extended,  and  finally  become 
more  definitely  extended  in  proportion  as  the  resist- 
ing body  gets  more  definitely  to  seem  external. 

Such  accounts,  however  vaguely  expressed,  are 
indubitably  true,  if  one  goes  far  enough  back  in 
time.  Since  things  are  perceived  later  which  were 
not  perceived  earlier,  it  is  certain  a priori  that  there 
was  a moment  when  the  perception  of  them  began ; 
and  we  are,  therefore,  sure  in  advance,  of  being 
right,  if  we  say  of  any  perception  that  first  it  didn't 
exist,  and  that  then  there  was  a mere  suggestion  and 
nascency  of  it,  which  grew  more  definite,  until,  at 
last,  the  thing  was  fully  established.  The  only  merit 
of  such  statements  lies  in  getting  them  historically 
exact,  and  in  determining  the  very  moment  at  which 
each  successive  element  of  the  final  fact  came  in. 
Science  can  never  explain  the  qualities  of  the  succes- 
sive elements,  if  they  show  new  qualities,  appearing 
then  for  the  first  time.  It  can  only  name  the  mo- 
ment and  conditions  of  their  appearance,  and  its 
whole  problem  is  to  name  these  aright.  Now,  we 
probably  all  agree  that  the  condition  of  our  per- 
ceiving the  quality  of  bigness,  the  extensive  quality, 
in  any  sensible  thing  is  some  peculiar  process  in 
our  brain  at  the  moment.  But  whereas,  in  the  arti- 
cles which  the  Editor  criticises,  I maintained  that 
the  moment  is  the  very  first  moment  in  which  we  get 
a sensation  of  any  sort  whatever,  the  Editor  con- 


313 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  t188^ 


tends  possibly  that  it  is  the  first  time  we  have  the 
feeling  of  resisted  muscular  effort,  but  more  prob- 
ably (as  I read  his  text)  that  it  is  much  later  in  the 
day,  after  many  sensations,  all  purely  “intensive,” 
have  come  and  gone.  In  my  articles  I have  given 
(with  probably  far  too  great  prolixity)  the  grounds 
for  the  date  which  I assign,  and  criticised  the 
grounds  given  by  Wundt  and  Helmholtz  for  the 
later  one  which  they  prefer.  I miss  in  the  Editor’s 
remarks  (as  in  all  English  writings  upholding  the 
same  view)  any  attempt  at  explicit  proof  that  the 
earlier  date  is  impossible,  and  that  sensations  can- 
not come  with  any  apparent  bigness  when  they  first 
appear.  May  not  the  supposed  impossibility  be 
rather  an  assumption  and  a prejudice,  due  to  un- 
criticised tradition?  If  there  be  definite  reasons  for 
it  in  the  Editor’s  mind,  I hope  sincerely  that  he  will 
publish  them  without  delay.  But  if,  on  the  con- 
trary, a mere  dim  bigness  can  appear  in  all  our  first 
sensations,  then  the  date  of  its  appearance  is  most 
probably  then ; for  discriminations,  associations, 
and  selections  among  the  various  bignesses,  occur- 
ring later  on,  will  perfectly  explain  (as  I have  tried 
to  show)  how  the  definitive  perception  of  real  outer 
space  and  of  the  bodies  in  it  grows  up  in  the  mind. 
Eye-experience,  touch-experience,  and  muscular  ex- 
perience go  on  abreast  in  this  evolution,  and  their 
several  objects  grow  intimately  identified  with  each 
other.  But  I fail  to  see  in  this  fact  any  reason  for 
that  dependence  of  the  visual  space-feelings  “on  a 
tactile  base,”  such  as  my  critic  in  his  last  paragraph 


314 


[1889] 


THEORY  OF  EXTENSION 


seems  to  find.  One  who  asks  a blind  person  to  com- 
pare pasteboard  angles  and  the  directions  of  their 
sides  with  each  other,  and  who  observes  the  extraor- 
dinary inferiority  of  his  tactile  perceptions  to  our 
visual  ones,  will  be  very  loath  to  believe  that  the 
latter  have  the  former  for  their  base. 

I am  at  a loss  to  know  who  the  Editor  means  by 
the  theorists  (“space-theorists  generally,”  he  calls 
them)  who  commit  the  mistake  of  “seeking  for  an 
extension  that  is  extension  of  nothing  at  all.”  Cer- 
tainly this  mistake  cannot  be  imputed  to  anyone 
who,  like  myself,  holds  extension  to  be  coeval  with 
sensation.  The  matter  of  the  sensation  must  always 
be  there  to  fill  the  extension  felt.  The  extension  is 
of  the  warmth,  the  noise,  the  blue  luminosity,  the 
contact,  the  muscular  mass  contracting,  or  what- 
ever else  the  phenomenon  may  be. 

Still  other  points  do  I find  obscure  in  the  Edi- 
tor’s remarks — obscure,  I am  sure,  from  no  other 
reason  but  the  brevity  to  which  he  has  confined 
them.  May  he  be  enabled  soon  to  set  them  forth  at 
fairer  length ! 


315 


XX 


A PLEA  FOR  PSYCHOLOGY  AS  A 
“NATURAL  SCIENCE”1 

[1892] 

In  the  first  number  of  this  journal,  Professor 
Ladd  takes  my  Principles  of  Psychology  as  a text 
for  certain  critical  reflections  upon  the  cerebralistic 
point  of  view  which  is  becoming  so  popular  in 
psychology  to-day.  I appreciate  fully  the  kind  per- 
sonal tone  of  the  article,  and  I admit  that  many  of 
the  thrusts  strike  home,  though  it  shocks  me  a bit, 
I confess,  to  find  that  in  some  particulars  my  vol- 
umes have  given  my  critic  so  false  an  impression  of 
my  beliefs.  I have  never  claimed,  for  instance,  as 
Professor  Ladd  seems  to  think  I claim,  that  psy- 
chology as  it  stands  to-day  is  a natural  science,  or 
in  an  exact  way  a science  at  all.  Psychology,  in- 
deed, is  to-day  hardly  more  than  what  physics  was 
before  Galileo,  what  chemistry  was  before  Lavoisier. 
It  is  a mass  of  phenomenal  description,  gossip,  and 
myth,  including,  however,  real  material  enough  to 
justify  one  in  the  hope  that  with  judgment  and 
good-will  on  the  part  of  those  interested,  its  study 

[’Reprinted  from  Philosophical  Review,  1892,  1,  14G-153.  Oc- 
casioned by  an  article  by  G.  T.  Ladd,  entitled  “Psychology  as 
so-called  ‘Natural  Science,’  ” ibid.,  pp.  2L-53,  in  which  the  writer 
criticises  James’s  Principles  (1890).  Ed.] 


316 


[1892]  PSYCHOLOGY  as  natural  science 


may  be  so  organized  even  now  as  to  become  worthy 
of  the  name  of  natural  science  at  no  very  distant 
day.  I hoped  that  my  book  would  leave  on  my 
readers  an  impression  somewhat  like  this  of  my  own 
state  of  mind.  I wished,  by  treating  Psychology 
like  a natural  science,  to  help  her  to  become  one. 
But  what  one  book  may  have  said  or  not  said  is  a 
matter  of  small  moment.  My  two  volumes  are 
doubtless  uncouth  enough ; and  since  Professor 
Ladd  wrote  his  article  my  general  position  has 
probably  been  made  more  clear  in  the  abridgment 
of  them,  which  Messrs.  Holt  & Co.  have  recently 
published  under  the  name  of  “Psychology:  Briefer 
Course.”1  Let  us  drop  the  wearisome  book,  there- 
fore, and  turn  to  the  question  itself,  for  that  is  what 
we  all  have  most  at  heart.  What  may  one  lawfully 
mean  by  saying  that  Psychology  ought  to  be  treated 
after  the  fashion  of  a “natural  science”?  I think  that 
I can  state  what  I mean ; and  I even  hope  that  I can 
enlist  the  sympathy  of  men  like  Professor  Ladd  in 
the  cause,  when  once  the  argument  is  fairly  set  forth. 

What  is  a natural  science,  to  begin  with  ? It  is  a 
mere  fragment  of  truth  broken  out  from  the  whole 
mass  of  it  for  the  sake  of  practical  effectiveness  ex- 
clusively. Divide  et  impera.  Every  special  science, 
in  order  to  get  at  its  own  particulars  at  all,  must 
make  a number  of  convenient  assumptions  and  de- 
cline to  be  responsible  for  questions  which  the 
liuman  mind  will  continue  to  ask  about  them.  Thus 

1 See  especially  the  chapters  headed  “Introductory"  and 
“Epilogue.” 


317 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0892] 


physics  assumes  a material  world,  but  never  tries  to 
show  liow  our  experience  of  such  a world  is  “pos- 
sible.” It  assumes  the  inter-action  of  bodies,  and  the 
completion  by  them  of  continuous  changes,  without 
pretending  to  know  how  such  results  can  be.  Be- 
tween the  things  thus  assumed,  now,  the  various 
sciences  find  definite  “laws”  of  sequence ; and  so  are 
enabled  to  furnish  general  Philosophy  with  mate- 
rials properly  shaped  and  simplified  for  her  ulterior 
tasks.  If,  therefore,  psychology  is  ever  to  conform 
to  the  type  of  the  other  natural  sciences,  it  must 
also  renounce  certain  ultimate  solutions,  and  place 
itself  on  the  usual  common-sense  basis  by  uncriti- 
cally begging  such  data  as  the  existence  of  a physi- 
cal world,  of  states  of  mind,  and  of  the  fact  that 
these  latter  take  cognizance  of  other  things.  What 
the  “physical  world”  may  be  in  itself,  how  “states  of 
mind”  can  exist  at  all,  and  exactly  what  “taking 
cognizance”  may  imply,  are  inevitable  further 
questions;  but  they  are  questions  of  the  kind  for 
which  general  philosophy,  not  natural  science,  is 
held  responsible. 

Now  if  there  is  any  natural  science  in  possession 
of  a subject-matter  well  set  off  and  contrasted  with 
all  others,  it  is  psychology.  However  much  our  self- 
consciousness,  our  freedom,  our  ability  to  conceive 
universals,  or  what  not,  may  ally  us  with  the  In- 
finite and  Absolute,  there  is  yet  an  aspect  of  our 
being,  even  of  our  mental  being,  which  falls  wholly 
within  the  sphere  of  natural  history.  As  constitut- 
ing the  inner  life  of  individual  persons  who  are  born 


318 


[1892]  PSYCHOLOGY  as  natural  science 


and  die,  onr  conscious  states  are  temporal  events 
arising  in  the  ordinary  course  of  nature, — events, 
moreover,  the  conditions  of  whose  happening  or 
non-happening  from  one  moment  to  another,  lie  cer- 
tainly in  large  part  in  the  physical  world.  Not  only  - 
this;  they  are  events  of  such  tremendous  practical 
moment  to  us  that  the  control  of  these  conditions 
on  a large  scale  would  be  an  achievement  compared 
with  which  the  control  of  the  rest  of  physical  nature 
would  appear  comparatively  insignificant.  All  nat-  ' 
ural  sciences  aim  at  practical  prediction  and  con- 
trol, and  in  none  of  them  is  this  more  the  case  than 
in  psychology  to-day.  We  live  surrounded  by  an  * 
enormous  body  of  persons  who  are  most  definitely 
interested  in  the  control  of  states  of  mind,  and  in- 
cessantly craving  for  a sort  of  psychological  science 
which  will  teach  them  how  to  act.  What  every  edu-  v/ 
cator,  every  jail-warden,  every  doctor,  every  clergy- 
man, every  asylum-superintendent,  asks  of  psychol- 
ogy is  practical  rules.  Such  men  care  little  or  noth-  • 
ing  about  the  ultimate  philosophic  grounds  of  men- 
tal phenomena,  but  they  do  care  immensely  about 
improving  the  ideas,  dispositions,  and  conduct  of 
the  particular  individuals  in  their  charge. 

Now  out  of  what  may  be  called  the  biological 
study  of  human  nature  there  has  at  last  been  pre- 
cipitated a very  important  mass  of  material  strung 
on  a guiding  conception  which  already  to  some  de- 
gree meets  these  persons’  needs.  The  brain-path  * 
theory  based  on  reflex  action,  the  conception  of  the 
human  individual  as  an  organized  mass  of  tenden- 


319 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0892] 


cies  to  react  mentally  and  muscularly  on  his  en- 
vironment in  ways  which  may  be  either  preserva- 
tive or  destructive,  not  only  helps  them  to  analyze 
their  cases,  but  often  leads  them  to  the  right  remedy 
when  perversion  has  set  in.  How  much  more  this 
conception  may  yet  help  them  these  men  do  not 
know,  but  they  indulge  great  hopes.  Together  with 
the  physiologists  and  naturalists  they  already  form 
a band  of  workers,  full  of  enthusiasm  and  confidence 
in  each  other,  and  are  pouring  in  materials  about 
human  nature  so  copious  that  the  entire  working 
life  of  a student  may  easily  go  to  keeping  abreast  of 
the  tide.  The  “psychical  researchers,”  though  kept 
at  present  somewhat  out  in  the  cold,  will  inevitably 
conquer  the  recognition  which  their  labors  also 
deserve,  and  will  make,  perhaps,  the  most  impor- 
tant contributions  of  all  to  the  pile.  But,  as  I just 
remarked,  few  of  these  persons  have  any  aptitude  or 
fondness  for  general  philosophy ; they  have  quite  as 
little  as  the  pure-blooded  philosophers  have  for  dis- 
covering particular  facts. 

The  actual  existence  of  two  utterly  distinct  types 
of  mind,  with  their  distinct  needs,  both  of  them  hav- 
ing legitimate  business  to  transact  with  psychology, 
must  then  be  recognized;  and  the  only  question 
there  can  be  is  the  practical  one  of  how  to  distribute 
the  labor  so  as  to  waste  it  least  and  get  the  most 
efficient  results.  For  my  part,  I yield  to  no  man  in 
my  expectations  of  what  general  philosophy  will 
some  day  do  in  helping  us  to  rational  conceptions 
of  the  world.  But  when  I look  abroad  and  see  how 


320 


! 


[1892]  PSYCHOLOGY  AS  NATUKAL  SCIENCE 

almost  all  the  fresh  life  that  has  come  into  psychol- 
ogy of  recent  years  has  come  from  the  biologists, 
doctors,  and  psychical  researchers,  I feel  as  if  their 
impulse  to  constitute  the  science  in  their  own  way, 
as  a branch  of  biology,  were  an  unsafe  one  to 
thwart;  and  that  wisdom  lies,  not  in  forcing  the 
consideration  of  the  more  metaphysical  aspects  of 
human  consciousness  upon  them,  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, in  carefully  rescuing  these  aspects  from  their 
hands,  and  handing  them  over  to  those  of  the  spe- 
cialists in  philosophy,  where  the  metaphysical 
aspects  of  physics  are  already  allowed  to  belong. 
If  there  could  be,  after  sufficient  ventilation  of  the 
subject,  a generally  expressed  consent  as  to  the  kind 
of  problems  in  psychology  that  were  metaphysical 
and  the  kind  that  were  analogous  to  those  of  the 
natural  sciences,  and  if  the  word  “psychology” 
could  then  be  restricted  so  as  to  cover  as  much  as 
possible  the  latter  and  not  the  former  problems,  a 
psychology  so  understood  might  be  safely  handed 
over  to  the  keeping  of  the  men  of  facts,  of  the  lab- 
oratory workers  and  biologists.  We  certainly  need 
something  more  radical  than  the  old  division  into 
“rational”  and  “empirical”  psychology,  both  to  be 
treated  by  the  same  writer  between  the  covers  of 
the  same  book.  We  need  a fair  and  square  and 
explicit  abandonment  of  such  questions  as  that  of 
the  soul,  the  transcendental  ego,  the  fusion  of  ideas 
or  particles  of  mind  stuff,  etc.,  by  the  practical 
man;  and  a fair  and  square  determination  on  the 
part  of  the  philosophers  to  keep  such  questions  out 


321 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0892] 


of  psychology  and  treat  them  only  in  their  widest 
possible  connections,  amongst  the  objects  of  an  ulti- 
mate critical  review  of  all  the  elements  of  the  world. 

Prof.  Andrew  Seth  has  put  the  thing  excellently 
in  his  late  inaugural  address  at  Edinburgh, 
on  the  Present  Position  of  the  Philosophical 
Sciences.1  “Psychology,”  he  says,  “has  become  more 
scientific,  and  has  thereby  become  more  conscious 
of  her  own  aims,  and  at  the  same  time,  of  her  neces- 
sary limitations.  Ceasing  to  put  herself  forward  as 
philosophy,  she  has  entered  upon  a new  period  of 
development  as  science;  and,  in  doing  so,  she  has 
disarmed  the  jealousy,  and  is  even  fast  conquering 
the  indifference,  of  the  transcendental  philosopher.” 
Why  should  not  Professor  Ladd,  why  should  not 
any  “transcendental  philosopher,”  be  glad  to  help 
confirm  and  develop  so  beneficial  a tendency  as  this? 
In  Professor  Ladd’s  own  book  on  Physiological 
Psychology,  that  “real  being,  proceeding  to  unfold 
powers  that  are  sui  generis,  according  to  laws  of  its 
own,”  for  whose  recognition  he  contends,  plays  no 
organic  part  in  the  work,2  and  has  proved  a mere 

1 Blackwood,  1891. 

J I mean  that  suck  a being  is  quite  barren  of  particular  con- 
sequences. Its  character  is  only  known  by  its  reactions  on  tbe 
signals  wbicb  the  nervous  system  gives,  and  these  must  be 
gathered  by  observation  after  the  fact.  If  only  it  were  subject 
to  successive  reincarnations,  as  the  theosophists  say  it  is,  so 
that  we  might  guess  what  sort  of  a body  it  would  unite  with 
next,  or  what  sort  of  persons  it  had  helped  to  constitute  pre- 
viously, those  would  be  great  points  gained.  But  even  those 
gains  are  denied  us ; and  the  real  being  is,  for  practical  pur- 
poses, an  entire  superfluity,  which  a practical  psychology  can 
perfectly  well  do  without. 


322 


[1892]  PSYCHOLOGY  as  natukal  science 


stumbling-block  to  bis  biological  reviewers.  Why 
force  it  on  tbeir  attention,  and  perpetuate  thereby  a 
force  it  on  their  attention,  and  perpetuate  thereby  a 
sort  of  wrangle  from  which  physics  and  chemistry 
have  long  since  emerged,  and  from  which  psychol- 
ogy, if  left  to  the  “facts  of  experience”  alone,  prom- 
ises so  soon  to  escape? 

Now  the  sort  of  “fact  of  experience”  on  which  in  * 
my  book  I have  proposed  to  compromise,  is  the  so- 
called  “mental  state,”  in  whose  existence  not  only 
common  men  but  philosophers  have  uniformly  be- 
lieved. Whatever  conclusions  an  ultimate  criticism 
may  come  to  about  mental  states,  they  form  a prac- 
tically admitted  sort  of  object  whose  habits  of  co- 
existence and  succession  and  relations  with  organic 
conditions  form  an  entirely  definite  subject  of  re- 
search. Cannot  philosophers  and  biologists  both  be- 
come “psychologists”  on  this  common  basis?  Can- 
not both  forego  ulterior  inquiries,  and  agree  that, 
provisionally  at  least,  the  mental  state  shall  be  the 
ultimate  datum  so  far  as  “psychology”  cares  to  go? 

If  the  “scientific  monists”  would  only  agree  to  say 
nothing  of  the  states  being  produced  by  the  integra- 
tion and  differentiation  of  “psychic  units,”  and 
the  “transcendental  metaphysicians”  agree  to  say 
nothing  of  their  being  acts  of  spiritual  entities  de- 
veloping according  to  laws  of  their  own,  peace 
might  long  reign,  and  an  enormous  booty  of  natural 
laws  be  harvested  in  with  comparatively  no  time  or 
energy  lost  in  recrimination  and  dispute  about  first 
principles.  My  own  volumes  are  indeed  full  of  such 
recrimination  and  dispute,  but  these  unfortunate 


323 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS.  AND  REVIEWS  0892] 


episodes  are  for  tlie  most  part  incidental  to  the  at- 
tempt to  get  the  undivided  “mental  state”  once  for 
all  accepted  by  my  colleagues  as  the  fundamental 
datum  for  their  science.  To  have  proposed  such  a 
useful  basis  for  united  action  in  psychology  is  in 
my  own  eyes  the  chief  originality  and  service  of  the 
book ; and  I cannot  help  hoping  that  Professor  Ladd 
may  himself  yet  feel  the  force  of  the  considerations 
now  urged.  Not  that  to-day  we  have  a “science”  of 
the  correlation  of  mental  states  with  brain  states; 
but  that  the  ascertainment  of  the  laws  of  such  cor- 
relation forms  the  programme  of  a science  well 
limited  and  defined.  Of  course,  when  such  a science 
is  formed,  the  whole  body  of  its  conclusions  will  fall 
a prey  to  philosophical  reflection,  and  then  Profes- 
sor Ladd’s  “real  being”  will  inevitably  have  the  best 
possible  chance  to  come  to  its  rights. 

One  great  reason  why  Professor  Ladd  cares  so 
little  about  setting  up  psychology  as  a natural 
science  of  the  correlations  of  mental  with  cerebral 
events,  is  that  brain  states  are  such  desperately  in- 
accessible things.  I fully  admit  that  any  exact 
account  of  brain  states  is  at  present  far  beyond  our 
reach;  and  I am  surprised  that  Professor  Ladd 
should  have  read  into  my  pages  the  opinion  that 
psychology  as  a natural  science  must  aim  at  an  ac- 
count of  brain  states  exclusively,  as  the  correlates 
of  states  of  mind.  Our  mental  states  are  correlated 
immediately  with  brain  states,  it  is  true ; but,  more 
remotely,  they  are  correlated  with  many  other  phys- 
ical events,  peripheral  nerve  currents  for  example, 


324 


[1892]  PSYCHOLOGY  as  natural  science 


and  the  physical  stimuli  which  occasion  these.  Of 
these  latter  correlations  we  have  an  extensive  body 
of  rather  orderly  knowledge.  And,  after  all,  may 
we  not  exaggerate  the  degree  of  our  ignorance  of 
brain  states  themselves?  We  don’t  know  exactly 
what  a nerve  current  is,  it  is  true;  but  we  know  a 
good  deal  about  it.  We  know  that  it  follows  a path, 
for  instance,  and  consumes  a fraction  of  a second 
of  time  in  doing  so.  We  know  that,  physically  con- 
sidered, our  brain  is  only  a mass  of  such  paths, 
which  incoming  currents  must  somehow  make  their 
way  through  before  they  run  out.  We  even  know 
something  about  the  consciousness  with  which  par- 
ticular paths  are  specially  “correlated,”  those  in  the 
occipital  lobes,  e.g.,  being  connected  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  visible  things.  Now  the  provisional 
value  of  such  knowledge  as  this,  however  inexact  it 
be,  is  still  immense.  It  sketches  an  entire  pro- 
gramme of  investigation,  and  defines  already  one 
great  kind  of  law.  which  will  be  ascertained.  The 
order  in  time  of  the  nerve  currents,  namely,  is  what 
determines  the  order  in  time,  the  coexistences  and 
successions  of  the  states  of  mind  to  which  they  are 
related.  Professor  Ladd  probably  does  not  doubt 
the  nerve-current  theory  of  motor  habits;  he  prob- 
ably does  not  doubt  that  our  ability  to  learn 
things  “by  heart”  is  due  to  a capacity  in  the 
cerebral  cortex  for  organizing  definitely  succes- 
sive systems  of  paths  of  discharge.  Does  he 
then  see  any  radical  reason  why  the  special 
time-order  of  the  “ideas”  in  any  case  whatever  of 


325 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0892] 


“association”  may  not  be  analogously  explained? 
And  if  not,  may  he  not  go  on  to  admit  that  the  most 
characteristic  features  of  our  faculty  of  memory,1 
of  our  perception  of  outer  things,2  of  our  liability  to 
illusion,3  etc.,  are  most  plausibly  and  naturally  ex- 
plained by  acquired  organic  habitudes,  stamped  by 
the  order  of  impressions  on  the  plastic  matter  of  the 
brain?  But  if  he  will  admit  all  this,  then  the  dia- 
grams of  association-paths  of  which  he  preserves  so 
low  an  opinion  are  not  absolutely  contemptible. 
They  do  represent  the  sort  of  thing  which  deter- 
mines the  order  of  our  thoughts  quite  as  well  as 
those  diagrams  which  chemists  make  of  organic 
molecules  represent  the  sort  of  thing  which  deter- 
mines the  order  of  substitution  when  new  com- 
pounds are  made. 

It  seems  to  me,  finally,  that  a critic  of  cerebralism 
in  psychology  ought  to  do  one  of  two  things.  He 
ought  either  to  reject  it  in  principle  and  entirely, 
but  then  be  willing  to  throw  over,  for  example,  such 
results  as  the  entire  modern  doctrine  of  aphasia — 
a very  hard  thing  to  do ; or  else  he  ought  to  accept 
it  in  principle,  but  then  cordially  admit  that,  in 
spite  of  present  shortcomings,  we  have  here  an  im- 
mense opening  upon  which  a stable  phenomenal 
science  must  some  day  appear.  We  needn’t  pretend 

1 Such  as  the  need  of  a “cue” ; the  advantages,  for  recall,  of 
repetition  and  multiple  association ; the  fact  of  obliviscence,  etc 

2 That  the  ideas  of  all  the  thing’s  attributes  arise  in  the 
imagination,  even  when  only  a few  of  them  are  felt,  etc. 

3 That,  e.g.,  the  most  usual  (and  therefore  probable)  associ- 
ates of  the  present  sensation  are  mentally  imagined  even  when 
not  actually  there. 


326 


[1892]  PSYCHOLOGY  as  natural  science 


that  we  have  the  science  already;  but  we  can  cheer 
those  on  who  are  working  for  its  future,  and  clear 
metaphysical  entanglements  from  their  path.  In 
short,  we  can  aspire. 

We  never  ought  to  doubt  that  Humanity  will 
continue  to  produce  all  the  types  of  thinker  which 
she  needs.  I myself  do  not  doubt  of  the  “final  per- 
severance” or  success  of  the  philosophers.  Never- 
theless, if  the  hard  alternative  were  to  arise  of  a 
choice  between  “theories”  and  “facts”  in  psychol- 
ogy, between  a merely  rational  and  a merely  prac- 
tical science  of  the  mind,  I do  not  see  how  any  man 
could  hesitate  in  his  decision.  The  kind  of  psychol- 
ogy which  could  cure  a case  of  melancholy,  or  charm 
a chronic  insane  delusion  away,  ought  certainly  to 
be  preferred  to  the  most  seraphic  insight  into  the 
nature  of  the  soul.  And  that  is  the  sort  of  psy- 
chology which  the  men  who  care  little  or  nothing 
for  ultimate  rationality,  the  biologists,  nerve-doc- 
tors, and  psychical  researchers,  namely,  are  surely 
tending,  whether  we  help  them  or  not,  to  bring 
about. 


327 


XXI 


THE  ORIGINAL  DATUM  OF  SPACE- 
CONSCIOUSNESS  1 

[1893] 

Under  this  title  Mr.  E.  Ford,  in  the  last  Mind , 
propounds  to  Mr.  Ward  and  myself  an  alternative 
which  he  considers  fatal  to  our  doctrines  of  space- 
perception.  May  I make  a reply  to  the  criticism  so 
far  as  it  concerns  my  own  view? 

Mr.  Ford  says  that  “local  signs”  are  “utterly  in- 
adequate to  furnish  a foundation  for  the  perception 
of  position.”  If  “to  furnish  a foundation”  mean  “to 
explain  ”1  entirely  agree  with  our  critic.  The  [term] 2 
“local  sign”  has  perhaps  come  to  be  abused  in  recent 
literature  on  the  space-question.  Lotze’s  original  in- 
tent with  it  (if  I am  not  mistaken)  was  rather 
negative  than  positive.  He  needed  a term  which 
would  denote  a numerically  distinctive  quality  in 
each  point  of  our  sensitive  surfaces,  and  yet  which 
would  not  connote  any  positive  explanation  of  the 
relative  positions  in  which  the  objects  perceived 
by  the  points  appear  arranged.  But  one  now  notices 
a tendency  to  use  the  term  “local  sign”  as  if  it  were 

[‘Reprinted  from  Mind,  1893,  N.S.  2,  363-365.  Written  in 
reply  to  “The  Original  Datum  of  Space-Consciousness,”  by  E. 
Ford,  ibid.,  217-218.  Ed.] 

[2  Substituted  for  “word.”  Ed.] 

328 


[1893]  DATUM  of  space-consciousness 


meant  to  cover  some  mysterious  explanation.  I am 
not  sure  that  Mr.  Ford  does  not  take  it  in  this  way, 
for  he  assumes  that  Mr.  Ward  and  I “deduce”  or 
“develop”  space  from  the  local  sign  system.  I,  for 
one,  certainly  disclaim  anything  of  the  kind.  By 
defending  what  I call  a sensationalist  theory  of 
space-perception,  I mean  expressly  to  deny  that  we 
can  logically  or  rationally  deduce  the  features  of  the 
finished  phenomenon.  Its  antecedents  are  physi- 
ological. Mr.  Ford  asks : “How  much  does  the  con- 
ception of  extensity  involve?”  As  a matter  of  fact , 
extensity  involves  all  that  comes  out  of  it  in  the  way 
of  finished  space-determinations.  But  as  a mere 
conception,  I do  not  see  that  extensity  necessarily 
involves  any  exact  system  of  points  with  their  rela- 
tions or  distances,  for  we  may  empirically  be  con- 
scious of  spaces  that  are  exceedingly  confused  and 
vague  as  to  their  inner  content.  This  is  especially 
marked  in  dozing  and  in  recovery  from  syncope  or 
anaesthesia.  Neither,  on  the  other  hand,  do  any 
number  of  distinct  feelings,  susceptible  of  serial  ar- 
rangement, such  as  “local  signs”  are  assumed  to 
be,  necessarily  “involve”  extensity,  for  we  find  in 
every  department  of  our  sensibility  feelings  which, 
when  we  arrange  them  serially,  never  appear  spread 
out  before  us  in  space.  That  certain  organs  give  us 
sensations  of  extensity,  and  that  parts  of  these 
organs  contribute  objects  which  when  separately 
attended  to  appear  definitely  placed  within  the  ex- 
tensity, are  facts  which  seem  to  me  insusceptible 
of  any  logical  explanation.  All  we  can  say  is, 


329 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0893] 


that  these  organs  act  in  this  way,  and  others 
do  not. 

Take,  to  illustrate,  the  cases  of  the  eye  and  the 
ear.  When  we  first  hear  a musical  chord,  it  has 
a certain  richness  and  volume,  but  no  distinct  parts 
are  apprehended  within  it  yet.  By  setting  the  at- 
tention in  a certain  way,  however,  we  discern  first 
one  and  then  another  of  the  notes.  There  is  a qual- 
ity in  each  note  which  identifies,  individualises,  and 
distinguishes  it  from  the  rest.  Moreover,  if  we 
“compare”  the  notes,  we  feel  a relation  between 
them,  which  Professor  Stumpf  has  well  called  their 
“distance.”  One  pair  have  more  distance  between 
them  than  another,  so  that  we  can  arrange  them 
serially.  In  the  case  of  the  notes,  however,  no  one 
would  seriously  pretend  that  the  distance  was  a 
sound,  like  that  of  the  notes  themselves.  Most 
people  would  call  it  a relation  intellectually  and  not 
sensibly  apprehended;  and  if  asked  why  it  is  not 
sensibly  perceived,  would  simply  say  that  we  have 
no  sense-organ  for  such  relations.  Now  the  field  of 
vision  is  both  like  and  unlike  the  chord.  It  is  some- 
thing rich  and  voluminous,  within  which  presently, 
by  setting  the  attention,  we  discern  first  one  and 
then  another  spot,  and  then,  by  comparing,  define 
the  distance  between  them.  Only  here  the  distance 
is  a thing  seen,  and  not  a relation  apprehended 
merely  intellectually;  for  in  the  eye  we  have,  as  in 
the  ear  we  have  not,  a sense-organ  for  such  distances. 
Simultaneously  with  the  spots,  their  distance  is 
optically  felt,  the  physiological  condition  of  the  feel- 


330 


[1893]  DATUM  of  SPACE-CONSCIOUSNESS 


ing  being  the  excited  retinal  tract  which  stretches 
between  the  retinal  points  on  which  the  spots  fall. 

But,  says  Mr.  Ford,  if  the  seen  distance,  or  line, 
“is  a feeling,  what  is  the  relation  between  this  feel- 
ing and  the  two  points  which  it  connects?  Our 
reply  of  course  would  be:  That  of  ‘besideness,’  of 
local  contact,  which  we  consider  must  be  postulated 
as  a primary  datum.  We  do  not  see  what  answer 
would  be  open  to  Mr.  James.” 

To  which  I can  only  reply  that  the  answer 
“primary  datum”  is  as  open  to  me  as  to  Mr.  Ford. 
That  two  seen  things,  when  distinguished,  appear 
“beside”  each  other,  and  that  two  heard  things  do 
not,  seem  to  me  two  inexplicable  facts.  The  usual 
explanation  that  we  pass  from  the  one  seen  thing  to 
the  other  by  a muscular  “sweep,”  the  feeling  of 
which  is  absent  in  the  case  of  the  heard  things,  is 
quite  inadequate ; for  ( even  if  the  facts  were  strictly 
true,  which  they  are  not)  one  does  not  see  why  the 
end  of  a muscular  feeling  should  appear  separated 
in  space  from  its  beginning  any  more  than  one  sees 
why  the  beginning  and  end  of  a sound  should  not 
so  appear.  Nor  can  [the]1  Mill’s  phrase  of  “mental 
chemistry”  or  Wundt’s  of  psychic  “synthesis”  be 
held  to  have  explanatory  value.  On  the  contrary, 
they  but  rename  the  mystery.  Whatever  the  in- 
trinsic character  of  the  qualities  known  as  local 
signs  may  be,  if  they  are  susceptible  of  serial  grada- 
tion, they  must  appear  more  or  less  “distant”  from 
each  other,  and  some  will  appear  next  each  other. 


p Apparently  a misprint.  Ed.] 

331 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0893] 


But  the  distance  will  be  space-distance,  and  the 
nextness  will  be  “besideness,”  only  when  the  whole 
system  of  qualities  aroused  together  appears  with 
spread-outness  or  extent.  Serial  position  then  be- 
comes sensible  and  palpable  as  place.  Behind  this 
“ultimate  fact”  we  cannot  go. 

When  then  Mr.  Ford  offers  his  final  dilemma: 
“The  local  sign  is  either  given  as  a relation  or  as  a 
quality ; if  the  former,  the  relation  of  position  must 
be  original  and  the  development-theory  is  super- 
fluous; if  the  latter,  the  theory  fails,”  I can  only 
say  that  I know  of  no  development-theory  for  which 
I am  responsible,  for  I never  tried  “to  develop” 
either  extensity  or  position  out  of  local  signs.  The 
local  sign  is  of  course  a quality,  and  one  local  sign 
by  itself  cannot  be  given  as  a relation.  But  that, 
when  many  local  signs,  or  rather  the  sensitive 
organic  points  which  correspond  to  them,  are  excited 
together,  the  objects  tinged  by  the  local  signs  appear 
in  relation,  and  eke  in  relations  of  position,  is  a fact 
which  no  theory  of  mine  ever  attempted  rationally 
to  explain. 


332 


XXII 


MR.  BRADLEY  OX  IMMEDIATE 
RESEMBLANCE  1 

[1893] 

My  agreement  with  Mr.  Bradley  that  “the  issue 
involved  is  one  of  very  great  and  wide-reaching 
importance”  must  be  my  excuse  for  sending  a word 
of  comment  on  his  paper  in  the  January  Mind. 
The  text  of  his  criticism  is  furnished  by  pp.  490- 
494,  and  532-533  of  Yol.  I.  of  my  work  The  Prin- 
ciples of  Psychology,  and  the  exact  question  is  this : 
Is  the  “resemblance”  which  we  predicate  of  two 
objects  due  in  the  last  resort  always  to  the  opera- 
tions on  our  mind  of  qualitatively  identical  elements 
contained  in  each?  Or,  may  we,  on  the  other  hand, 
admit  the  existence,  amongst  our  mind’s  objects,  of 
qualities  or  natures  which  have  no  definite  “point” 
in  common,  but  which  we  perceive  to  be,  although 
numerically  distinct,  yet  like  each  other  in  various 
degrees  and  ways?  We  so  often  discover  later  the 
exact  point  of  resemblance  in  two  composite  objects 
which  first  struck  us  by  their  likeness  as  vague 

p Reprinted  from  Mind,  1893,  N.S.  2,  20S-210.  Written  in 
reply  to  F.  H.  Bradley’s  “On  Professor  James’s  Doctrine  of 
Simple  Resemblance,’’  iMd.,  83-88.  This  and  the  following  dis- 
cussion are  referred  to  in  The  Pluralistic  Universe  (1909),  p. 
335,  note.  Ed.] 


333 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0893] 


wholes,  and  we  are  so  often  able  to  name  it  as  an 
identical  portion  in  both,  that  the  temptation  to 
generalise  lies  very  near ; and  we  then  say  that  there 
can  nowhere  be  natures  immediately  like  or  unlike 
each  other,  and  that  every  case  of  so-called  similar- 
ity, even  the  simplest,  must  constitute  a problem  in 
analysis,  which  a higher  discernment  might  solve. 
But  since  the  higher  discernment,  methodically 
abandoned  to  this  analytic  quest,  ought  not  to  stop 
at  any  elements  of  which  resemblance  is  simply 
affirmed  (for  the  “point”  of  this  resemblance  must 
then  also  be  sought),  it  is  obvious  that  the  problem 
can  only  lead  to  one  of  two  conclusions,  either  to 

(1)  The  postulation  of  point  after  point,  encap- 
sulated within  each  other  in  infinitum,  as  the  con- 
stitutive condition  of  the  resemblance  of  any  two 
objects ; or  to 

(2)  A last  kind  of  element  (if  one  could  then  say 
“kind”)  of  whose  self-compoundings  all  the  objects, 
and  of  whose  diverse  numbers  in  the  objects,  all  the 
likeness  and  unlikeness  in  the  world  are  made. 

Of  these  two  views  of  resemblance  the  former 
leads  to  a sort  of  Leibnitzian  metaphysics,  and  the 
latter  to  what  I call  the  Mind-dust  theory. 

My  solution,  or  rather  Stumpfs  (for  in  my  book 
I am  but  the  humble  follower  of  the  eminent  Munich 
psychologist),  was  to  take  neither  of  these  objection- 
able alternatives,  but  (challenging  the  hasty  hypoth- 
esis that  composition  must  explain  all)  to  admit 

(3)  That  the  last  elements  of  things  may  differ 
variously,  and  that  their  “kinds”  and  bare  unmedi- 


334 


[1893]  IMMEDIATE  RESEMBLANCE 


ated  resemblances  and  contrasts  may  be  ultimate 
data  of  our  world  as  well  as  provisional  categories 
of  our  perception. 

Mr.  Bradley  is  dissatisfied  both  with  this  thesis,1 
and  with  the  arguments  given  in  my  book  to  support 
it.  I care  much  more  about  the  thesis  than  about 
the  arguments,  so  I will  spare  the  reader  all  cavil  at 
my  critic’s  treatment  of  the  latter.  In  particular  I 
abandon  the  series-business  to  his  mercy,  as  being 
something  inessential,  for  I am  much  more  con- 
cerned with  furthering  understanding  of  the  subject 
than  with  defending  my  own  text.2  As  regards  the 
thesis  itself,  Mr.  Bradley  quarrels  greatly  with  the 
simplicity  of  the  elements  between  which  in  the  last 
resort  it  contends  that  bare  unmediated  resemblance 
may  obtain.  I did,  it  is  true,  assume  in  my  text 
that  the  elements  were  simple,  and  I called  them 
simple  qualities,  but  I regard  that  as  an  entirely 
inessential  point.  So  far  as  my  thesis  stands  up  for 
ultimate  unmediated  likeness  as  against  likeness 
dependent  on  partially  identical  content,  it  makes 
no  difference  whether  the  last  elements  assumed  to 

1 Or  have  I made  a gross  blunder,  and  is  he  dissatisfied  really 
not  with  “simple  resemblance”  but  only  with  “resemblance 
between  simples,”  on  which,  as  I presently  explain,  I do  not 
insist? 

2 One  misapprehension,  however,  I may  complain  of.  Mr. 
Bradley  seems  to  accuse  me  of  believing  that  the  “points  of 
resemblance”  which  form  the  ground  of  similarity  must  be 
“separable”  parts  of  the  similar  things.  Discernible  parts  are 
all  that  the  argument  requires ; and  I surely  never  implied  that 
the  “points”  in  question  must  be  susceptible  of  physical  isola- 
tion. The  accusation  is  so  absurd  that  I fear  I have  not  under- 
stood Mr.  Bradley’s  text. 


335 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0893] 


be  like,  are  simple  or  complex.  They  must  only  not 
contain  any  identical  point.  In  other  words,  com- 
plexes like  abc  and  clef  might  resemble  each  other 
by  principle  (3)  as  well  as  simple  elements  like  a 
and  b. 

This  clears  up  one  confusion.  But  dire  confu- 
sion still  remains  in  my  mind  as  to  the  rest  of  what 
Mr.  Bradley  may  mean.  He  has  a solution  of  his 
own  which  is  like  neither  (1),  (2),  nor  (3)  as  pro- 
pounded above.  He  alludes  to  it  abundantly,  but 
dispenses  himself  from  stating  it  articulately,  or 
illustrating  it  by  any  example,  because  it  proceeds 
from  a principle  which  he  imagines  to  be  the  “com- 
mon property  of  philosophic  students.”  Such  or- 
acular expression  of  opinion  might  fairly  exempt 
one  from  the  duty  of  nearer  research,  but  the  great 
debt  I owe  to  Mr.  Bradley’s  Logic  makes  me  strug- 
gle in  the  hope  of  yet  finding  valuable  truth.  Mr. 
Bradley  appears  to  hold  that  all  likeness  must  be 
“in  and  through  a particular  point” — at  least  he 
says  so  on  page  85.  Now  call  the  “point”  m,  and 
the  two  like  objects  a and  b.  If  the  m in  a were 
simply  like  the  m in  b,  that  would  be  that  simple 
resemblance  over  again  with  which  Mr.  Bradley  is 
not  content.  But  if  we  suppose  the  two  m’s  to  be 
alike  by  virtue  of  another  “point,”  finer  still,  that 
leads  to  infinite  regress;  and  that  again  I under- 
stand Mr.  Bradley  not  to  favour.  It  then  would 
remain  open  to  say  that  the  two  m’s  in  a and  b are 
identical  in  nature  and  only  numerically  distinct. 
But  here  again  pure  identity  displeases  Mr.  Brad- 


336 


[1893]  IMMEDIATE  RESEMBLANCE 


ley,  whose  great  principle  is  that  “our  one  chance 
lies  in  maintaining  the  vital,  the  inseparable  con- 
nexion at  every  point  between  identity  and  differ- 
ence” (bottom  of  p.  88).  Just  how  this  principle 
works  in  the  matter  in  question,  Mr.  Bradley  does 
not  divulge,  and  I wish  that,  instead  of  his  pleasant 
irony  about  my  familiarity  with  the  dialectical 
method,  he  had  himself  given  some  exacter  account. 
I have  laboured  with  the  greatest  good-will  to  recon- 
struct his  thought,  but  feel  wholly  at  sea  with  my 
results.  If  he  means  simply  the  Hegelian  common- 
place that  whereas  neither  the  abstract  sameness 
nor  the  abstract  otherness  of  two  objects  can  con- 
stitute likeness  between  them,  the  likeness  must 
seek  in  the  “synthesis”  of  the  sameness  with  the 
otherness  its  only  possible  mode  of  realisation,  that 
seems  to  me  but  an  excessively  clumsy  way  of  stat- 
ing in  terms  of  a quasi- miracle  the  very  truth  which 
Stumpf  and  I express  by  saying  that  likeness  is  an 
immediately  ascertained  relation.  You  cannot  for- 
ever analytically  exhibit  its  ground,  but  must  some- 
where at  last  postulate  it  as  there,  as  having  already 
effected  itself,  you  know  not  how.  Nothing  is  gained 
for  our  understanding  by  presenting  the  process 
as  a sort  of  juggler’s  trick,  that,  namely,  of  the  seem- 
ingly impossible  coalescence,  of  two  contradictory 
terms;  and  therefore  I cannot  believe  that  the 
subtle  Mr.  Bradley  has  anything  as  innocent  as  that 
in  his  mind.  Perhaps  what  I write  may  draw  him 
from  his  reserve! 

Of  course  there  is  a familiar  path  open  to  those 
337 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0893] 


who  believe  that  likeness  must  be  “in  and  through 
a particular  point/’  and  who  yet  deny  that  the 
“point”  can  be  in  two  objects  the  same.  They  can 
call  likeness  an  “Antinomy”;  saying  that  all  like- 
ness of  wholes  is  conditioned  on  that  of  their  meta- 
physical parts,  and  that  unconditionally  like  parts 
are  unattainable,  however  long  one  may  seek.  But 
this  leaves  both  immediate  likeness  and  apparent 
identity  as  ever-recurring  categories  in  our  think- 
ing, never  to  be  expelled  from  our  empirical  world, 
and  I submit  that  Mr.  Bradley  has  not  yet  shown 
these  categories  to  be  absurd.  “Antinomies”  should 
surely  not  be  multiplied  beyond  necessity.  The 
qualities  of  the  things  of  this  world,  the  “terms” 
between  which  likenesses  and  differences  obtain, 
are  not  supposed  to  be  engendered  by  the  summation 
of  a procession  of  still  more  inward  qualities  in- 
volved within  each  other  in  infinite  regression,  like 
the  whirls  of  an  endlessly  converging  spiral  that 
never  reaches  its  central  point.  Why  need  we  in- 
sist that  the  “relations”  between  the  terms,  the  like- 
nesses and  differences  themselves,  must  be  engen- 
dered by  such  an  impossible  summation  or  synthe- 
sis? How  quality  logically  makes  itself , we  do  not 
know ; and  we  know  no  more  in  the  case  of  the  qual- 
ity of  a relation  of  likeness,  than  in  that  of  the 
quality  of  a sensational  content. 


338 


XXIII 


IMMEDIATE  RESEMBLANCE  1 

[1893] 

May  another  word  be  permitted  in  reply  to  Mr. 
Bradley’s  second  utterance  on  this  subject,  as  pos- 
sibly helping  to  clear  up  the  dispute?  My  point 
of  view  was  merely  psychological  in  contending,  as 
I did  in  my  book,  for  the  admission  of  immediate 
resemblance  as  an  ultimate  category  of  our  percep- 
tion, and  of  comparison  as  an  ultimate  function  of 
our  thought.  The  doctrine  (made  so  plausible  by 
familiar  examples)  that  all  resemblances  must  be 
analysable  into  identities  concealed  under  non-iden- 
tities, I showed  could  not  be  extended  to  every  imag- 
inable case.  Mr.  Bradley  now  says  that  immediate 
resemblance  without  identity  seems  to  him  “sheer 
nonsense,”  and  that  “to  deny  the  principle  of  Iden- 
tity is  to  destroy  the  world,”  and  he  challenges  me 
again  to  “state  the  principle”  on  which  I “object 
to  identity.”  To  which  challenge  I can  only  reply 
that  to  identity  as  such  I have  no  objection  in  the 
world,  and  am  astonished  that  any  one  should  sus- 

f1  Reprinted  from  Mind,  1893,  N.S.  2,  509 — 510.  Written  in 
reply  to  F.  H.  Bradley’s  “Professor  James  on  Simple  Re- 
semblance,” Mind,  1893,  N.S.  2,  366-369,  in  which  Bradley  de- 
fends the  conception  of  identity-in-difference.  A final  reply 
by  Mr.  Bradley  appeared  in  ibid.,  p.  510.  Ed.] 


339 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0893] 


pect  me  of  such  an  irrational  aversion.  Every  act 
of  reasoning,  every  bit  of  analysis,  proves  the  prac- 
tical utility  and  the  psychological  necessity  of  the 
assumption  that  identical  characters  may  be  “encap- 
sulated” in  different  things.  But  I say  that  there 
must  be  some  things  whose  resemblance  is  not  based 
on  such  discernible  and  abstractable  identity.  Now, 
the  identity  on  which  Mr.  Bradley  himself  thinks 
that  the  resemblance  between  all  things  must  be 
based  is  no  such  abstractable  identity.  It  is  not 
separable,  it  is  not  even  discernible,  he  says,  from 
difference.  It  is  only  one  aspect  of  an  integral 
whole  on  which  you  may  lay  stress  for  a moment, 
but  if  you  abstract  it,  or  put  it  ideally  in  a box  by 
itself,  you  make  it  self-inconsistent,  or  reduce  it  to 
nothing.  But  an  “identity”  thus  conceived  is  so 
different  a thing  from  the  stark  self -sameness  which 
“identity”  denotes  in  logic,  that  it  seems  unfortu- 
nate to  describe  it  by  the  same  name.  The  usual 
English  name  for  that  sort  of  identity  between  two 
things  which  you  cannot  abstract  or  distinguish 
from  their  difference  is  their  “resemblance.”  So 
that  Mr.  Bradley  now  makes  perfectly  clear  that  in 
seeming  to  attack  Professor  Stumpf’s  and  my  doc- 
trine he  is  but  reaffirming  it  under  a changed  name. 
When  he  insists  that  every  resemblance  must  have 
for  its  inner  ground  an  “identity”  thus  complicat- 
edly  conceived,  he  is  like  a man  who  should  say 
“every  resemblance  must  have  for  its  inner  ground 
the  resemblance  itself.”  Why,  such  being  the  case, 
he  should  quarrel  with  me  I cannot  fathom : for  this 


340 


[1893]  IMMEDIATE  RESEMBLANCE 


is  exactly  the  opinion  I have  myself  stood  up  for  in 
all  simple  cases.  Can  it  be  the  word  “simple”  which 
has  caused  all  the  trouble? — for  I believe  that  in 
my  book  I did  heedlessly  use  the  expression  “simple 
resemblance”  in  one  place.  But  I never  meant 
thereby  to  imply  that  the  simplest  phenomenon  of 
resemblance  might  not  seem,  when  contemplated 
long  enough,  fairly  to  curdle  and  swim  with  inner 
complexity,  to  embody  inseparable  oppositions,  or 
whatever  more  of  vital  mystery  any  one  may  find. 
The  simplest  ideas,  as  I meant  to  use  the  word 
simple,  begin  to  look  the  queerest  when  gazed  at  in 
this  way.  But  such  gazing  is  a “metaphysical”  occu- 
pation, in  which  we  shall  all  indulge,  I am  sure,  with 
the  greatest  profit,  when  Mr.  Bradley’s  new  book 
comes  out.  I never  meant  to  go  beyond  psychology ; 
and  on  that  relatively  superficial  plane  I now  con- 
fidently greet  Mr.  Bradley,  no  longer  as  the  foe 
which  by  a mere  verbal  ambiguity  he  has  seemed, 
but  as  a powerful  and  welcome  ally. 


341 


XXIV 


LADD’S  “PSYCHOLOGY:  DESCRIPTIVE 
AND  EXPLANATORY”1 

[1894] 

As  regards  the  originality  of  this  treatise,  it  is 
strictly  true  that  it  is  independent  from  beginning 
to  end.  The  period  of  assimilation  is  past  for  the 
author;  the  raw  materials  have  been  brought  into 
solution,  and  have  crystallized  out  again  spontane- 
ously and  naturally  in  the  form  that  characterizes 
his  mind.  In  this  sense  his  pages  are  mellow  and 
alive,  and  full  of  native  observation  and  expression 
of  belief.  But  with  all  the  concreteness,  honesty, 
veracity,  and  shrewd  humor  that  I find,  I can,  with 
the  best  will  in  the  world,  find  no  one  idea  or  argu- 
ment that  abides  with  me  as  an  unforgetable  addi- 
tion to  the  subject.  What  does  strike  me  with  the 
force  of  freshness  is  the  amazing  thoroughness 
with  which  Professor  Ladd  realizes  the  intricacy  of 
his  facts.  It  seems  to  me  little  short  of  wonderful 
that  a man  should  be  able  to  make  so  many  subdi- 
visions, and  find  so  many  distinct  things  to  say  on 
the  descriptive  level.  In  this  sense  he  is  original, 

[irThe  closing  paragraphs  of  a review  of  G.  T.  Ladd’s 
Psychology:  Descriptive  and  Explanatory.  Reprinted  from 
Psychological  Review,  1894,  1,  286-293.  Ed.] 


342 


[1894] 


LADD’S  PSYCHOLOGY 


for  no  one  has  yet  attained  to  writing  up  the  subject 
in  as  fine-grained  a way  as  this.  But  to  he  perfectly 
frank — and  here  I fully  realize  that  the  critic  writes 
down  his  own  shortcomings  even  more  plainly  than 
those  of  the  author  on  whom  he  presumes  to  ani- 
madvert with  his  subjective  epithets — I find  this 
whole  descriptive  sort  of  treatment  tedious  as  few 
things  can  be  tedious,  tedious  not  as  really  hard 
things,  like  physics  and  chemistry,  are  tedious,  but 
tedious  as  the  throwing  of  feathers  hour  after  hour 
is  tedious;  and  I confess  that  when  I think  of 
the  probable  number  of  virgin-minded  youths  and 
maidens,  hungry  for  spiritual  food,  who,  through 
the  length  and  breadth  of  this  great  land,  will  now 
certainly  be  led  over  all  these  pages  of  fine  print 
merely  to  get  back, 

“Statt  der  lebendigen  Natur 
Da  Gott  den  Menschen  schuf  hinein,” 

all  these  terrific  abstract  words  and  sentences,  I feel 
a sort  of  shudder  at  the  violence  done  to  human 
want.  It  is  not  that  Ladd  qua  Ladd  is  a tedious 
writer, — I could  name  many  eminent  psychologists 
who  are  more  tedious  to  me  than  he, — but  that  mere 
description  as  such,  mere  translation  into  words  of 
what  we  already  possess  in  living  fulness  in  our 
bosoms,  is  bound  to  be  tedious  under  any  circum- 
stances. To  speak  more  soberly,  could  not  the 
words  have  been  much  fewer,  and  yet  have  con- 
tained all  the  abstract  truth  one  needs  to  know? 

These  groans  of  mine  no  doubt  proceed  from  the 

343 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0894] 


same  idiosyncrasy  that  makes  me  demand  that  psy- 
chology shall  be  a “science'’  in  a sense  different  from 
that  by  which  Professor  Ladd  is  satisfied.  I desid- 
erate “conditions”;  for  Ladd  “analysis”  and  “trac- 
ing of  genesis  and  growth”  are  enough  (p.  8).  I 
cry  for  a “Galileo  or  a Lavoisier”  to  lift  us  from  this 
flat  descriptive  level,  whilst  my  colleague  says  that 
he  does  not  sympathize  in  the  least  with  such  “a 
confession  of  weakness — for  example — because  ‘psy- 
chology is  still  in  the  condition  of  chemistry  before 
Lavoisier,’  nor  look  forward  with  the  expectation 
that  soon  some  Lavoisier  will  arise  to  rescue  it  from 
its  depressed  condition”  (659).  He  thinks  that  all 
attempts  to  assimilate  psychology  to  the  other 
natural  sciences  are  “misleading”  (ibid.).  To  me 
this  lack  of  craving  for  insight  into  causes  is  most 
strange.  Here  is  a flagrant  mystery,  that  of  the 
union  of  mind  with  brain,  and  we  are  apparently 
told  that  we  must  seek  no  reasons  for  it  in  a deeper 
insight  into  either  factor! — told,  in  other  words, 
that  a mere  narrative  of  the  life  of  the  spiritual 
being  with  its  “unique  unity,”  developing  according 
to  its  equally  unique  laws,  is  the  uttermost  ideal 
of  research — for  Professor  Ladd’s  contention  is 
hardly  distinguishable  from  this.  To  me,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  seems  as  if  “methodologically”  the 
crudest  cerebralistic  theories,  or  the  wildest  theo- 
sophic  ones  about  the  seven  principles  of  human 
nature,  lead  in  a more  healthy  direction  than  this 
contented  resignation.  And  as  the  theories  of  in- 
heritance have  killed  the  taxonomic  and  biographic 


344 


[1894] 


LADD’S  PSYCHOLOGY 


view  of  natural  history  by  merely  superseding  it, 
and  reduced  the  older  books  of  classification  to 
mere  indexes,  so  will  the  descriptive  psychologies 
be  similarly  superseded  the  moment  some  genuinely 
causal  psycho-physic  theory  comes  upon  the  stage. 
Not  that  they  will  be  judged  false,  but  that  they 
will  then  seem  insignificant.  Alas  that  my  learned 
Yale  co-editor  will  not  join  with  me  in  saying: 

“Ring  out,  ring  out,  our  mournful  rhymes, 

But  ring  the  fuller  minstrel  in” ! 


345 


XXV 


THE  PHYSICAL  BASIS  OF  EMOTION 1 

[1894] 

In  the  year  1884  Professor  Lange  of  Copenhagen 
and  the  present  writer  published,  independently  of 
each  other,  the  same  theory  of  emotional  conscious- 
ness. They  affirmed  it  to  be  the  effect  of  the  organic 
changes,  muscular  and  visceral,  of  which  the  so- 
called  “expression”  of  the  emotion  consists.  It  is 
thus  not  a primary  feeling,  directly  aroused  by  the 
exciting  object  or  thought,  but  a secondary  feeling 
indirectly  aroused;  the  primary  effect  being  the 
organic  changes  in  question,  which  are  immediate 
reflexes  following  upon  the  presence  of  the  object. 

This  idea  has  a paradoxical  sound  when  first  ap- 
prehended, and  it  has  not  awakened  on  the  whole 
the  confidence  of  psychologists.  It  may  interest 
some  readers  if  I give  a sketch  of  a few  of  the  more 
recent  comments  on  it. 

Professor  Wundt’s  criticism  may  be  mentioned 
first.2  He  unqualifiedly  condemns  it,  addressing 
himself  exclusively  to  Lange’s  version.  He  accuses 
the  latter  of  being  one  of  those  psychologischen 
Scheinerklarungen  which  assume  that  science  is 

[’  Reprinted  from  Psychological  Review,  1894,  1,  516-529. 
Of.  “What  is  an  Emotion?”  above,  pp.  244-275,  and  p.  244, 
note,  Ed.] 

2 Pliilosophische  Studien,  VI.,  349  (1891). 

346 


[1894]  PHYSICAL  basis  of  emotion 


satisfied  when  a psychic  fact  is  once  for  all  referred 
to  a physiological  ground. 

His  own  account  of  the  matter  is  that  the  im- 
mediate and  primary  result  of  “the  reaction  of 
Apperception1  on  any  conscious-content”  or  object 
is  a Gefuhl  (364).  Gefuhl  is  an  unanalyzable  and 
simple  process  corresponding  in  the  sphere  of 
Gemiith  to  sensation  in  the  sphere  of  intellection 
(359) . But  Gefiihle  have  the  power  of  altering  the 
course  of  ideas — inhibiting  some  and  attracting 
others,  according  to  their  nature ; and  these  ideas  in 
turn  produce  both  secondary  Gefiihle  and  organic 
changes.  The  organic  changes  in  turn  set  up  addi- 
tional sinnliche  Gefiihle  which  fuse  with  the  preced- 
ing ones  and  strengthen  the  volume  of  feeling 
aroused.  This  whole  complex  process  is  what  Wundt 
calls  an  Affect  or  Emotion — a state  of  mind  which, 
as  he  rightly  says,  “has  thus  the  power  of  intensify- 
ing itself”  (358-363).  I shall  speak  later  of  what 
may  be  meant  by  the  primary  Gefuhl  thus  described. 
Wundt  in  any  case  would  seem  to  be  certain  both 

1 In  this  article,  as  in  the  4th  edition  of  his  Psychology, 
Wundt  vaguely  completes  his  volte-face  concerning  “Appercep- 
tion” and  dimly  describes  the  latter  in  associationist  terms. 
“Apperception  is  nothing  really  separable  from  the  effects  which 
it  produces  in  the  content  of  representation.  In  fact  it  consists 
of  nothing  but  these  concomitants  and  effects.  [A  thing  that 
“consists”  of  its  concomitants !]  . . . In  each  single  appercep- 
tive act  the  entire  previous  content  of  the  conscious  life  oper- 
ates as  a sort  of  integral  total  force”  (364,  365),  etc.  The 
whole  account  seems  indistinguishable  from  pure  Herbartism, 
in  which  Apperception  is  only  a name  for  the  interaction  of  the 
old  and  the  new  in  consciousness,  of  which  interaction  feeling 
may  be  one  result. 


347 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  H894] 


that  it  is  the  essential  part  of  the  emotion,  and  that 
currents  from  the  periphery  cannot  be  its  organic 
correlate.  I should  say,  granting  its  existence,  that 
it  falls  short  of  the  emotion  proper,  since  it  involves 
no  commotion,  and  that  such  currents  are  its  cause. 
But  of  these  points  later  on.  The  rest  of  Wundt’s 
criticism  is  immaterial,  dealing  exclusively  with  cer- 
tain rash  methodological  remarks  of  Lange’s;  em- 
phasizing the  “parallelism”  of  the  psychical  and  the 
physical ; and  pointing  out  the  vanity  of  seeking  in 
the  latter  a causal  explanation  of  the  former.  As  if 
Lange  ever  pretended  to  do  this  in  any  intimate 
sense ! Two  of  Wundt’s  remarks,  however,  are  more 
concrete. 

How  insufficient,  he  says,  must  Lange’s  explana- 
tion of  emotions  from  vaso-motor  effects  be,  when 
it  results  in  making  him  put  joy  and  anger  together 
in  one  class ! To  which  I reply  both  that  Lange  has 
laid  far  too  great  stress  on  the  vaso-motor  factor 
in  his  explanations,  and  that  he  has  been  materially 
wrong  about  congestion  of  the  face  being  the  es- 
sential feature  in  anger,  for  in  the  height  of  that 
passion  almost  every  one  grows  pale — a fact  which 
the  expression  “white  with  rage”  commemorates. 
Secondly,  Wundt  says,  whence  comes  it  that  if  a cer- 
tain stimulus  be  what  causes  emotional  expression 
by  its  mere  reflex  effects,  another  stimulus  almost 
identical  with  the  first  will  fail  to  do  so  if  its 
mental  effects  are  not  the  same?  (355) . The  mental 
motivation  is  the  essential  thing  in  the  production 
of  the  emotion,  let  the  “object”  be  what  it  may. 


348 


[1894]  PHYSICAL  basis  of  emotion 


This  objection,  in  one  form  or  another,  recurs  in 
all  the  published  criticisms.  “Not  the  mere  object 
as  such  is  what  determines  the  physical  effects,” 
writes  Mr.  D.  Irons  in  a recent  article1  which,  if  it 
wrere  more  popularly  written,  would  be  undeniably 
effective,  “but  the  subjective  feeling  towards  the  ob- 
ject. . . . An  emotional  class  is  not  something  ob- 
jective; each  subject  to  a great  extent  classifies  in 
this  regard  for  itself,  and  even  here  time  and  cir- 
cumstance make  alteration  and  render  stability  im- 
possible. ...  If  I were  not  afraid , the  object  would 
not  be  an  object  of  terror ” (p.  84).  And  Dr.  W.  L. 
Worcester,  in  an  article2  which  is  both  popularly 
written  and  effective,  says:  “Neither  running  nor 
any  other  of  the  symptoms  of  fear  which  he  [W.  J.] 
enumerates  is  the  necessary  result  of  seeing  a bear. 
A chained  or  caged  bear  may  excite  only  feelings  of 
curiosity,  and  a well-armed  hunter  might  experience 
only  pleasurable  feelings  at  meeting  one  loose  in  the 
woods.  It  is  not,  then,  the  perception  of  the  bear 
that  excites  the  movements  of  fear.  We  do  not  run 
from  the  bear  unless  we  suppose  him  capable  of 
doing  us  bodily  injury.  Why  should  the  expecta- 
tion of  being  eaten,  for  instance,  set  the  muscles  of 
our  legs  in  motion?  ‘Common  sense’  would  be  likely 
to  say  that  it  was  because  we  object  to  being  eaten; 
but  according  to  Professor  James  the  reason  we 
dislike  to  be  eaten  is  because  we  run  away”  (287). 

Professor  James’s  “Theory  of  Emotion,”  Mind,  p.  78,  1894. 

2 “Observations  on  Some  Points  in  James’s  Psychology.  II. 
Emotion,”  The  Monist,  Vol.  III.,  p.  285  (1893). 


349 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £18941 


A reply  to  these  objections  is  the  easiest  thing  in 
the  world  to  make  if  one  only  remembers  the  force 
of  association  in  psychology.  “Objects”  are  cer- 
tainly the  primitive  arousers  of  instinctive  reflex 
movements.  But  they  take  their  place,  as  experi- 
ence goes  on,  as  elements  in  total  “situations,”1  the 
other  suggestions  of  which  may  prompt  to  move- 
ments of  an  entirely  different  sort.  As  soon  as  an 
object  has  become  thus  familiar  and  suggestive,  its 
emotional  consequences,  on  any  theory  of  emotion , 
must  start  rather  from  the  total  situation  which  it 
suggests  than  from  its  own  naked  presence.  But 
whatever  be  our  reaction  on  the  situation,  in  the  last 
resort  it  is  an  instinctive  reaction  on  that  one  of 
its  elements  which  strikes  us  for  the  time  being  as 
most  vitally  important.  The  same  bear  may  truly 
enough  excite  us  to  either  fight  or  flight,  according 
as  he  suggests  an  overpowering  “idea”  of  his  killing 
us,  or  one  of  our  killing  him.  But  in  either  case  the 
question  remains:  Does  the  emotional  excitement 
which  follows  the  idea  follow  it  immediately,  or  sec- 
ondarily and  as  a consequence  of  the  “diffusive 
wave”  of  impulses  aroused? 

Dr.  Worcester  finds  something  absurd  in  the  very 
notion  of  acts  constituting  emotion  by  the  conscious- 
ness which  they  arouse.  How  is  it,  he  says,  with  vol- 
untary acts?  “If  I see  a shower  coming  up  and  run 
for  a shelter,  the  emotion  is  evidently  of  the  same 
kind,  though  perhaps  less  in  degree,  as  in  the  case  of 

1In  my  nomenclature  it  is  the  total  situation  which  is  the 
“object”  on  which  the  reaction  of  the  subject  is  made. 


350 


[1894]  PHYSICAL  basis  of  emotion 


the  man  who  runs  from  the  hear.  According  to  Pro- 
fessor James,  I am  afraid  of  getting  wet  because  I 
run.  But  suppose  that  instead  of  running  I step 
into  a shop  and  buy  an  umbrella.  The  emotion  is 
still  the  same.  I am  afraid  of  getting  wet.  Con- 
sequently, so  far  as  I can  see,  the  fear  in  this  case 
consists  in  buying  the  umbrella.  Fear  of  hunger, 
in  like  manner,  might  consist  in  laying  in  a store  of 
provisions;  fears  of  poverty  in  shovelling  dirt  at 
a dollar  a day,  and  so  on  indefinitely.  Anger,  again, 
may  be  associated  with  many  other  actions  than 
striking.  Shylock’s  anger  at  Antonio’s  insults 
induced  him  to  lend  him  money.  Did  the  anger 
. . . consist  in  the  act  of  lending  the  money?” 
(291).  I think  that  all  the  force  of  such  objections 
lies  in  the  slapdash  brevity  of  the  language  used,  of 
which  I admit  that  my  own  text  set  a bad  example 
when  it  said  “we  are  frightened  because  we  run.” 
Yet  let  the  word  “run”  but  stand  for  what  it  was 
meant  to  stand  for,  namely,  for  many  other  move- 
ments in  us,  of  which  invisible  visceral  ones  seem 
by  far  the  most  essential ; discriminate  also  between 
the  various  grades  of  emotion  which  we  designate 
by  one  name,  and  our  theory  holds  up  its  head  again. 
“Fear”  of  getting  wet  is  not  the  same  fear  as  fear  of 
a bear.  It  may  limit  itself  to  a prevision  of  the  un- 
pleasantness of  a wet  skin  or  of  spoiled  clothes,  and 
this  may  prompt  either  to  deliberate  running  or  to 
buying  an  umbrella  with  a very  minimum  of  prop- 
erly emotional  excitement  being  aroused.  What- 
ever the  fear  may  be  in  such  a case,  it  is  not  con- 


351 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  EE  VIEWS  0894] 


stituted  by  the  voluntary  act.1  Only  the  details  of 
the  concrete  case  can  inform  us  whether  it  be,  as 
above  suggested,  a mere  ideal  vision  of  unpleasant 
sensations,  or  whether  it  go  farther  and  involve  also 
feelings  of  reflex  organic  change.  But  in  either  case 
our  theory  will  cover  all  the  facts. 

Both  Dr.  Worcester  and  Mr.  Irons  are  struck  by 
this  variability  in  the  symptoms  of  any  given  emo- 
tion ; and  holding  the  emotion  itself  to  be  constant, 
they  consider  that  such  inconstant  symptoms  can- 
not be  its  cause.  Dr.  Worcester  acutely  remarks 
that  the  actions  accompanying  all  emotions  tend  to 
become  alike  in  proportion  to  their  intensity. 
People  weep  from  excess  of  joy;  pallor  and  trem- 
bling accompany  extremes  of  hope  as  well  as  of  fear, 
etc.  But,  I answer,  do  not  the  subject’s  feelings  also 
then  tend  to  become  alike,  if  considered  in  them- 
selves apart  from  all  their  differing  intellectual  con- 
texts? My  theory  maintains  that  they  should  do 
so;  and  such  reminiscences  of  extreme  emotion  as 
I possess  rather  seem  to  confirm  than  to  invalidate 
such  a view. 

In  Dr.  Lehmann’s  highly  praiseworthy  book,  Die 
Tlauptgesetze  des  menschlichen  Gefiihlslebens / 
much  is  said  of  Lange’s  theory;  and  in  particular 
this  same  alleged  identity  of  the  emotion  in  the 
midst  of  such  shifting  organic  symptoms  seems  to 
strike  the  critic  as  a fact  irreconcilable  with  its  be- 

1 When  the  running  has  actually  commenced,  it  gives  rise  to 
exhilaration  by  its  effects  on  breathing  and  pulse,  etc.,  in  this 
case,  and  not  to  fear. 

3 Leipzig,  1892. 

352 


[1894]  PHYSICAL  basis  of  emotion 


ing  true.  The  emotion  ought  to  be  different  when  the 
symptoms  are  different,  if  the  latter  make  the  emo- 
tion ; whereas  if  we  lay  a primary  mental  feeling  at 
its  core  its  constancy  with  shifting  symptoms  is  no 
such  hard  thing  to  understand  (p.  120).  Some  in- 
constancy in  the  mental  state  itself,  however,  Dr. 
Lehmann  admits  to  follow  from  the  shifting  symp- 
toms; but  he  contrasts  the  small  degree  of  this  in- 
constancy in  the  case  of  “motived”  emotions  where 
we  have  a recognized  mental  cause  for  our  mood, 
with  its  great  degree  where  the  emotion  is  “un- 
motived,” as  when  it  is  produced  by  intoxicants 
(alcohol,  haschisch,  opium)  or  by  cerebral  disease, 
and  changes  to  its  opposite  with  every  reversal  of 
the  vaso-motor  and  other  organic  states.  I must 
say  that  I cannot  regard  this  argument  as  fatal  to 
Lange’s  and  my  theory  so  long  as  we  remain  in  such 
real  ignorance  as  to  what  the  subjective  variations 
of  our  emotions  actually  are.  Exacter  observation, 
both  introspective  and  symptomatic,  might  well 
show  in  “motived”  emotions  also  just  the  amount 
of  inconstancy  that  the  theory  demands. 

Mr.  Irons  actually  accuses  me  of  self-contradic- 
tion in  admitting  that  the  symptoms  of  the  same 
emotion  vary  from  one  man  to  another,  and  yet  that 
the  emotion  has  them  for  its  cause.  How  can  any 
definite  emotion,  he  asks,  exist  under  such  circum- 
stances, and  what  is  there  then  left  to  give  unity  to 
such  concepts  as  anger  or  fear  at  all  (82)?  The 
natural  reply  is  that  the  bodily  variations  are  within 
limits,  and  that  the  symptoms  of  the  angers  and  of 


353 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0894] 


the  fears  of  different  men  still  preserve  enough  func- 
tional resemblance,  to  say  the  very  least,  in  the 
midst  of  their  diversity  to  lead  us  to  call  them  by 
identical  names.  Surely  there  is  no  definite  affec- 
tion of  “anger”  in  an  “entitative”  sense. 

Mr.  Irons  finds  great  difficulty  in  believing  that 
both  intellectual  and  emotional  states  of  mind,  both 
the  cognition  of  an  object  and  the  emotion  which 
it  causes,  contrasted  as  they  are,  can  be  due  to  such 
similar  neural  processes,  viz.,  currents  from  the 
periphery,  as  my  theory  assumes.  “How,”  he  asks, 
“can  one  perceptive  process  of  itself  suffuse  with 
emotional  warmth  the  cold  intellectuality  of 
another?  ...  If  perceptions  can  have  this  warmth, 
why  is  it  the  exclusive  property  of  perception  of 
organic  disturbance  ( 85 ) ?”  I reply  in  the  first 
place  that  it  is  not  such  exclusive  property,  for  all 
the  higher  senses  have  warmth  when  “aesthetic” 
objects  excite  them.  And  I reply  in  the  second  place 
that  even  if  secondarily  aroused  visceral  thrills  were 
the  only  objects  that  had  warmth,  I should  see  no 
difficulty  in  accepting  the  fact.  This  writer  further 
lays  great  stress  on  the  vital  difference  between  the 
receptive  and  the  reactive  states  of  the  mind,  and 
considers  that  the  theory  under  discussion  takes 
away  all  ground  for  the  distinction.  His  account 
of  the  inner  contrast  in  question  is  excellent.  He 
gives  the  name  of  “feeling-attitude”  to  the  whole 
class  of  reactions  of  tire  self,  of  which  the  experi- 
ences which  we  call  emotions  are  one  species.  He 
sharply  distinguishes  feeling-attitude  from  mere 


354 


[1894]  PHYSICAL  basis  of  emotion 


pleasure  and  pain — a distinction  in  which  I fully 
agree.  The  line  of  direction  in  feeling-attitude  is 
from  the  self  outward,  he  says,  while  that  of  mere 
pleasure  and  pain  (and  of  perception  and  ideation) 
is  from  the  object  to  the  self.  It  is  impossible  to 
feel  pleasure  or  pain  towards  an  object ; and  common 
language  makes  a sharp  distinction  between  being 
pained  and  having  bad  feelings  towards  somebody 
in  consequence.  These  attitudes  of  feeling  are  al- 
most indefinitely  numerous;  some  of  them  must 
always  intervene  between  cognition  and  action,  and 
when  in  them  we  feel  our  whole  Being  moved  (93- 
96).  Of  course  one  must  admit  that  any  account 
of  the  physiology  of  emotion  that  should  be  incon- 
sistent with  the  possibility  of  this  strong  contrast 
within  consciousness  would  thereby  stand  con- 
demned. But  on  what  ground  have  we  the  right 
to  affirm  that  visceral  and  muscular  sensibility  can- 
not give  the  direction  from  the  self  outwards,  if 
the  higher  senses  (taken  broadly,  with  their  idea- 
tional sequelae)  give  the  direction  from  the  object  to 
the  self?  We  do,  it  is  true,  but  follow  a natural 
analogy  when  we  say  (as  Fouillee  keeps  saying  in 
his  works  on  Idees-forces,  and  as  Ladd  would  seem 
to  imply  in  his  recent  Psychology ) that  the  former 
direction  in  consciousness  ought  to  be  mediated  by 
outgoing  nerve-currents,  and  the  latter  by  currents 
passing  in.  But  is  not  this  analogy  a mere  super- 
ficial fancy,  which  reflection  shows  to  have  no  basis 
in  any  existing  knowledge  of  what  such  currents 
can  or  cannot  bring  to  pass?  We  surely  know  too 


355 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS 


little  of  tlie  psycho-physic  relation  to  warrant  us  in 
insisting  that  the  similarity  of  direction  of  two 
physical  currents  makes  it  impossible  that  they 
should  bring  a certain  inner  contrast  about. 

Both  Dr.  Worcester  and  Mr.  Irons  insist  on  the 
fact  that  consciousness  of  bodily  disturbance,  taken 
by  itself,  and  apart  from  its  combination  with  the 
consciousness  of  an  exciting  object,  is  not  emotional 
at  all.  “Laughing  and  sobbing,  for  instance,”  writes 
the  former,  “are  spasmodic  movements  of  the 
muscles  of  respiration,  not  strikingly  different  from 
hiccoughing;  and  there  seems  no  good  reason  why 
the  consciousness  of  the  former  two  should  usually 
be  felt  as  strong  emotional  excitement  while  the  lat- 
ter is  not.  . . .Shivering  from  cold,  for  instance,  is 
the  same  sort  of  a movement  as  may  occur  in  vio- 
lent fright  but  it  does  not  make  us  feel  frightened. 
The  laughter  excited  in  children  and  sensitive  per- 
sons by  tickling  of  the  skin  is  not  necessarily  accom- 
panied by  any  mirthful  feelings.  The  act  of  vomit- 
ing may  be  the  accompaniment  of  the  most  extreme 
disgust,  or  it  may  occur  without  a trace  of  such 
emotion”  (289).  The  facts  must  be  admitted;  but 
in  none  of  these  cases  where  an  organic  change  gives 
rise  to  a mere  local  bodily  perception  is  the  repro- 
duction of  an  emotional  diffusive  wave  complete. 
Visceral  factors,  hard  to  localize,  are  left  out;  and 
these  seem  to  be  the  most  essential  ones  of  all.  I 
have  said  that  where  they  also  from  any  inward 
cause  are  added,  we  have  the  emotion ; and  that  then 
the  subject  is  seized  with  objectless  or  pathological 


356 


[1894]  PHYSICAL  basis  of  emotion 


dread,  grief,  or  rage,  as  the  case  may  be.  Mr.  Irons 
refuses  to  accept  this  interpretation.  The  bodily 
symptoms  do  not  here,  he  says,  when  felt,  constitute 
the  emotion.  In  the  case  of  fear  they  constitute 
rather  the  object  of  which  we  are  afraid.  We  fear 
them, , on  account  of  their  unknown  or  indefinite  evil 
consequences.  In  the  case  of  morbid  rage,  he  sug- 
gests, the  movements  are  probably  not  the  expres- 
sion of  a genuine  inner  rage,  but  only  frantic 
attempts  to  relieve  some  inward  pain,  which  out- 
wardly look  like  rage  to  the  observer  (80).  These 
interpretations  are  ingenious,  and  may  be  left  to 
the  reader’s  judgment.  I confess  that  they  fail  to 
convert  me  from  my  own  hypothesis.1 

Messrs.  Irons  and  Wundt  (and  possibly  Baldwin 
and  Sully,  neither  of  whom  accept  the  theory  in  dis- 

1 Mr.  Irons  elsewhere  says  that  “an  object  on  being  presented 
suddenly  may  cause  intense  fear.  On  being  recognized  as 
familiar  the  terror  may  vanish  instantly,  and  while  the  mental 
mood  has  changed,  for  a measurable  time  at  least,  all  the  bodily 
effects  of  the  former  state  are  present”  (86).  Their  dying 
phase  certainly  is  present  for  a while;  but  has  the  emotion 
then  “vanished  instantly”?  I should  rather  say  that  there  is 
then  a very  mixed  emotional  state,  in  which  something  of  the 
departing  terror  still  blends  with  the  incoming  joy  of  relief. 
The  case  of  waking  from  nightmare  is  for  us  civilizees  prob- 
ably the  most  frequent  experience  in  point.  On  such  occasions 
the  horror  with  me  is  largely  composed  of  an  intensely  strong 
but  indescribable  feeling  in  my  breast  and  in  all  my  muscles, 
especially  those  of  the  legs,  which  feel  as  if  they  were  boiled 
into  shreds  or  otherwise  inwardly  decomposed.  This  feeling 
fades  out  slowly  and  until  it  is  gone  the  horror  abides,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  I am  already  enjoying  the  incomplete  relief 
which  comes  of  knowing  that  the  bad  experience  is  a dream, 
and  that  the  horror  is  on  the  wane.  It  were  much  to  be  wished 
that  many  persons  should  make  observations  of  this  sort,  for 
individual  idiosyncrasy  may  be  great. 

357 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0894] 


pute,  but  to  whose  works  I have  not  access  where  I 
write,  so  that  I cannot  verify  my  impression)  think 
that  the  theory  carries  with  it  implications  of  an 
objectionable  sort  philosophically.  Irons,  for  ex- 
ample, says  that  it  belongs  to  a psychology  in  which 
feeling  can  have  no  place,  because  it  ignores  the  self 
and  its  unity,  etc.  (92) . In  my  own  mind  the  theory 
has  no  philosophic  implications  whatever  of  a gen- 
eral sort.  It  assumes  (what  probably  every  one 
assumes)  that  there  must  be  a process  of  some  sort 
in  the  nerve-centres  for  emotion,  and  it  simply  de- 
fines that  process  to  consist  of  afferent  currents.  It 
does  this  on  no  general  theoretic  grounds,  but  be- 
cause of  the  introspective  appearances  exclusively. 

The  objective  qualities  with  which  perception  ac- 
quaints us  are  considered  by  psychologists  to  be  re- 
sults of  sensation.  When  these  qualities  affect  us 
with  pleasure  or  displeasure,  we  say  that  the  sensa- 
tions have  a “tone  of  feeling.”  Whether  this  tone 
be  due  to  a mere  form  of  the  process  in  the  nerve 
of  sense,  as  some  authors  (e.g.,  Mr.  Marshall)  think, 
or  to  additional  specific  nerves,  as  others  ( e.y Dr. 
Nichols)  opine,  is  immaterial.  The  pleasantness  or 
unpleasantness,  once  there,  seems  immediately  to 
inhere  in  the  sensible  quality  itself.  They  are 
beaten  up  together  in  our  consciousness.  But  in 
addition  to  this  pleasantness  or  painfulness  of  the 
content,  which  in  any  case  seems  due  to  afferent 
currents , we  may  also  feel  a general  seizure  of  ex- 
citement, which  Wundt,  Lehmann,  and  other  Ger- 
man writers  call  an  Affect,  and  which  is  what  I have 


358 


£1894]  PHYSICAL  basis  of  emotion 


all  along  meant  by  an  emotion.  Now  whenever  I my- 
self have  sought  to  discover  the  mind-stuff  of  which 
such  seizures  consist,  it  has  always  seemed  to  me  to 
be  additional  sensations  often  hard  to  describe,  but 
usually  easy  to  identify,  and  localized  in  divers  por- 
tions of  my  organism.  In  addition  to  these  sensa- 
tions I can  discern  nothing  but  the  “objective  con- 
tent” (taking  this  broadly  so  as  to  include  judgments 
as  well  as  elements  judged) , together  with  whatever 
agreeableness  or  disagreeableness  the  content  may 
come  tinged  by.1  Such  organic  sensations  being  also 

1 The  disagreeableness,  etc.,  is  a very  mild  affection,  not  dras- 
tic or  grasping  in  se  in  the  case  of  any  objective  content  except 
localized  bodily  pain,  properly  so  called.  Here  the  feeling  seems 
in  itself  overpowering  in  intensity  apart  from  all  secondary 
emotional  excitement.  But  I think  that  even  here  a distinction 
needs  to  be  made  between  the  primary  consciousness  of  the 
pain’s  intrinsic  quality,  and  the  consciousness  of  its  degree  of 
intolerability,  which  is  a secondary  affair,  seeming  connected 
with  reflex  organic  irradiations.  I recently,  while  traversing  a 
little  surgical  experience,  had  occasion  to  verify  once  more  the 
fact  that  it  is  not  the  mere  bigness  of  a pain  that  makes  it  most 
unbearable.  If  a pain  is  honest  and  definite  and  well  localized 
it  may  be  very  heavy  and  strong  without  taxing  the  extreme  of 
our  endurance.  But  there  are  pains  which  we  feel  to  be  faint 
and  small  in  their  intrinsic  amount,  but  which  have  something 
so  poisonous  and  non-natural  about  them  that  consent  to  their 
continuance  is  impossible.  Our  whole  being  refuses  to  suffer 
them.  These  pains  produce  involuntary  shrinkings,  writhings, 
sickness,  faintness,  and  dread.  For  such  emotion  superadded 
to  the  pain  itself  there  is  no  distinctive  name  in  English.  Pro- 
fessor Miinsterberg  has  distinguished  between  Schmerz  as  an 
original  “content”  of  consciousness  and  Unlust  as  due  to  flexor 
reactions  provoked  thereby ; and  before  his  Essay  appeared,  I 
remember  hearing  Dr.  D.  S.  Miller  and  Dr.  Nichols  maintain  in 
conversation  that  painfulness  may  be  always  a matter  of  “intol- 
erability,” due  to  the  reflex  irradiations  which  the  painful  ob- 
ject may  arouse.  Thus  might  even  the  mildest  Gemiitsvorgdnge 
be  brought  under  the  terms  of  my  theory. 

359 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0894] 


'presumably  due  to  incoming  currents , the  result  is 
that  the  whole  of  my  consciousness  (whatever  its 
inner  contrasts  be)  seems  to  me  to  be  outwardly 
mediated  by  these.  This  is  the  length  and  breadth 
of  my  “theory” — which,  as  I apprehend  it,  is  a very 
unpretending  thing. 

It  may  be,  after  all,  that  the  difference  between 
the  theory  and  the  views  of  its  critics  is  insignifi- 
cant. Wundt  admits  tertiary  feelings,  due  to  or- 
ganic disturbance,  which  must  fuse  with  the  pri- 
mary and  secondary  feelings  before  we  can  have  an 
“Affect”;  Lehmann  writes:  “Constrained  by  the 
facts,  we  are  obliged  to  concede  to  the  organic  sensa- 
tions and  tones  of  feeling  connected  with  them  an 
essential  participation  in  emotion  (wesentliche  Be- 
deutung  fur  die  Affecte)”  (p.  115)  ; and  Professor 
Ladd  also  admits  that  the  “rank”  quality  of  the 
emotions  comes  from  the  organic  repercussions 
which  they  involve.  So  far,  then,  we  are  all  agreed ; 
and  it  may  be  admitted,  in  Dr.  Worcester’s  words, 
that  the  theory  under  attack  “contains  an  important 
truth,”  and  even  that  its  authors  have  “rendered  a 
real  service  to  psychology”  (p.  295).  Why,  then,  is 
there  such  strong  opposition?  When  the  critics  say 
that  the  theory  still  contradicts  their  consciousness 
(Worcester,  p.  288),  do  they  mean  that  introspec- 
tion acquaints  them  with  a part  of  the  emotional 
excitement  which  it  is  psycho-physically  impossible 
that  incoming  currents  should  cause?  Or,  do  they 
merely  mean  that  the  part  which  introspection  can 
localize  in  the  body  is  so  small  that  when  abstracted 


360 


[1894]  PHYSICAL  basis  of  emotion 


a large  mass  of  unrealizable  emotion  remains?  Al- 
though Mr.  Irons  professes  the  former  of  these  two 
meanings,  the  only  prudent  one  to  stand  by  is  surely 
the  latter ; and  here,  of  course,  every  man  will  hold 
by  his  own  consciousness.  I for  one  shall  never 
deny  that  individuals  may  greatly  differ  in  their 
ability  to  localize  the  various  elements  of  their  or- 
ganic excitement  when  under  emotion.  I am  even 
willing  to  admit  that  the  primary  Gefiihlston  may 
vary  enormously  in  distinctness  in  different  men. 
But  speaking  for  myself,  I am  compelled  to  say 
that  the  only  feelings  which  I cannot  more  or  less 
well  localize  in  my  body  are  very  mild  and,  so  to 
speak,  platonic  affairs.  I allow  them  hypothetically 
to  exist,  however,  in  the  form  of  the  “subtler”  emo- 
tions, and  in  the  mere  intrinsic  agreeableness  and 
disagreeableness  of  particular  sensations,  images, 
and  thought-processes,  where  no  obvious  organic  ex- 
citement is  aroused.1 

This  being  the  case,  it  seems  almost  as  if  the  ques- 
tion had  become  a verbal  one.  For  which  sore  of 
feeling  is  the  word  “emotion”  the  more  proper  name 
— for  the  organic  feeling  which  gives  the  rank  char- 
acter of  commotion  to  the  excitement,  or  for  that 

1 Mr.  Irons  contends  that  in  admitting  “subtler”  forms  of  emo- 
tion, I throw  away  my  whole  case  (88,  89)  ; and  Dr.  Lehmann 
enters  into  an  elaborate  argument  to  prove  (as  he  alleges, 
against  Lange  and  me)  that  primary  feeling,  as  a possible  ac- 
companiment of  any  sensation  whatever,  must  be  admitted  to 
exist  (§§  157-164).  Such  objections  are  a complete  ignoratio 
elenchi,  addressed  to  some  imaginary  theory  with  which  my 
own,  as  I myself  understand  it,  has  nothing  whatever  to  do, 
all  that  I have  ever  maintained  being  the  dependence  on  in- 
coming currents  of  the  emotional  seizure  or  Affect. 

361 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  C1894J 


more  primary  pleasure  or  displeasure  in  the  object, 
or  in  the  thought  of  it,  to  which  commotion  and  ex- 
citement do  not  belong?  I myself  took  for  granted 
without  discussion  that  the  word  “emotion”  meant 
the  rank  feeling  of  excitement,  and  that  the  special 
emotions  were  names  of  special  feelings  of  excite- 
ment, and  not  of  mild  feelings  that  might  remain 
when  the  excitement  was  removed.  It  appears,  how- 
ever, that  in  this  assumption  I reckoned  without 
certain  of  my  hosts. 

Dr.  Worcester’s  quarrel  with  me  at  the  end  of  his 
article  becomes  almost  exclusively  verbal.  All 
pleasure  and  pain,  he  says,  whether  primary  and  of 
the  higher  senses  and  intellectual  products,  or  sec- 
ondary and  organic,  should  be  called  “emotion” 
(296).1  Pleasure  or  pain  revived  in  idea,  as  dis- 
tinguished from  vivid  sensuous  pleasure  and  pain, 
he  suggests  to  be  what  is  meant  by  emotion  “in  the 
sense  in  which  the  word  is  commonly  used”  (297)  ; 
and  he  gives  an  array  of  cases  in  point : 

“Suppose  that  I have  taken  a nauseous  dose  and 
made  a wry  face  over  it.  No  one,  I presume,  would 
question  that  the  disagreeableness  lay  in  the  unpleasant 
taste,  and  not  in  the  distortion  of  the  countenance. 

1 “The  essence  of  emotion  is  pleasure  and  pain,”  he  adds.  This 
is  a hackneyed  psychological  doctrine,  but  on  any  theory  of  the 
seat  of  emotion  it  seems  to  me  one  of  the  most  artificial  and 
scholastic  of  the  untruths  that  disfigure  our  science.  One 
might  as  well  say  that  the  essence  of  prismatic  color  is  pleas- 
ure and  pain.  There  are  infinite  shades  and  tones  in  the  vari- 
ous emotional  excitements,  which  are  as  distinct  as  sensations 
of  color  are,  and  of  which  one  is  quite  at  a loss  to  predicate 
either  pleasant  or  painful  quality. 


362 


[1894]  PHYSICAL  basis  of  emotion 


Now  suppose  I have  to  repeat  the  dose,  and  my  face 
takes  on  a similar  expression,  at  the  anticipation,  to 
that  which  it  wore  when  I took  it  originally.  How 
does  this  come  about  ? If  I can  trust  my  own  conscious- 
ness, it  is  because  the  vivid  reproduction,  in  memory, 
of  the  unpleasant  taste  is  itself  unpleasant.  ...  If 
this  be  the  fact,  what  can  be  more  natural  than  that  it 
should  excite  the  same  sort  of  associated  movements 
that  were  excited  by  the  original  sensation?  I cannot 
make  it  seem  any  more  credible  that  my  repugnance  to 
a repetition  of  the  dose  is  due  to  my  involuntary  move- 
ments than  my  discomfort  in  taking  it  originally  was 
due  to  the  similar  movements  that  occurred  then.  . . . 
I hardly  think  that  any  one  who  will  consult  his  own 
consciousness  will  say  that  the  reason  he  likes  the  taste 
of  an  orange  is  that  it  makes  him  laugh  or  smile  to 
get  it.  He  likes  it  because  it  tastes  good,  and  is  sorry 
to  lose  it  for  the  same  reason.”  (Ibid.) 

Now,  accepting  Dr.  Worcester’s  description  of  the 
facts,  I remark  immediately  that  the  nauseousness 
and  pleasantness  are  due  to  incoming  nerve-currents 
— at  any  rate  in  the  cases  which  he  selects — and  the 
feeling  of  the  involuntary  movements  as  well;  so 
whatever  name  we  give  to  the  phenomena,  so  far 
they  fall  comfortably  under  the  terms  of  my  theory. 
The  only  question  left  over  is  what  may  be  covered 
by  the  words  “repugnance”  and  “liking,”  which  I 
have  italicized,  but  which  Dr.  Worcester  does  not 
emphasize,  as  he  describes  his  instances.  Are  these 
a third  sort  of  affection,  not  due  to  afferent  currents, 
and  interpolated  between  the  gustatory  feelings  and 
reactions  which  are  so  due?  Or  are  they  a name  for 
what,  when  carefully  considered,  resolves  itself  into 


363 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0894] 


more  delicate  reactions  still?  I privately  incline  to 
the  latter  view,  but  the  whole  animus  of  my  critic’s 
article  obliges  me  to  attribute  to  him  the  opinion, 
not  only  that  the  like  and  dislike  must  be  a third 
sort  of  affection  not  grounded  on  incoming  currents, 
but  that  they  form  the  distinctive  elements  of  the 
“emotional”  state  of  mind. 

The  whole  discussion  sharpens  itself  here  to  a 
point.  We  can  leave  the  lexicographers  to  decide 
which  elements  the  word  “emotional”  belongs  to; 
for  our  concern  is  with  the  facts,  and  the  question 
of  fact  is  now  very  plain.  Must  we  (under  any 
name)  admit  as  an  important  element  in  the  emo- 
tional state  of  mind  something  which  is  distinct 
both  from  the  intrinsic  feeling-tone  of  the  object 
and  from  that  of  the  reactions  aroused — an  element 
of  which  the  “liking”  and  “repugnance”  mentioned 
above  would  be  types,  but  for  which  other  names 
may  in  other  cases  be  found?  The  belief  that  some 
such  element  does  exist,  and  exist  in  vital  amount, 
is  undoubtedly  present  in  the  minds  of  all  the  re- 
jectors of  the  theory  in  dispute.  Dr.  Worcester 
rightly  regrets  the  deadlock  when  one  man’s  intro- 
spection thus  contradicts  another’s  (288),  and  de- 
mands a more  objective  sort  of  umpire.  Can  such  a 
one  be  found?  I shall  try  to  show  now  that  it  pos- 
sibly has  been  found;  and  that  Dr.  Sollier’s  recent  % 
observations  on  complete  anesthetics  show  that  in 
some  persons  at  least  the  supposed  third  kind  of 
mental  element  may  exist,  if  it  exists  at  all,  in  al- 
together inappreciable  amount. 


364 


[1894]  PHYSICAL  basis  of  emotion 


In  my  original  article  I liad  invoked  cases  of 
generalized  anaesthesia,  and  admitted  that  if  a 
patient  could  be  found  who,  in  spite  of  being  anaes- 
thetic inside  and  out,  could  still  suffer  emotion,  my 
case  would  be  upset.1  I had  quoted  such  cases  as  I 
was  aware  of  at  the  time  of  writing,  admitting  that 
so  far  as  appearances  went  they  made  against  the 
theory;  but  I had  tried  to  save  the  latter  by  distin- 
guishing between  the  objective  reaction  which  the 
patient  makes  and  the  subjective  feeling  which  it 
gives  him.  Since  then  a number  of  cases  of  general- 
ized anaesthesia  have  been  published,  but  unfortu- 
nately the  patients  have  not  been  interrogated  from 
the  proper  point  of  view.  The  famous  “theory”  has 
been  unknown  to  the  reporting  doctors.  Two  such 
cases,  however,  described  by  Dr.  Berkley  of  Balti- 
more,2 are  cited  by  Dr.  Worcester  “for  what  they 
are  worth”  in  its  refutation  (294).  The  first  pa- 
tient was  an  Englishwoman,  with  complete  loss  of 
the  senses  of  pain,  heat  and  cold,  pressure  and 
equilibrium,  of  smell,  taste,  and  sight.  The  senses 
of  touch  and  of  position  were  not  completely  gone, 
but  greatly  impaired,  and  she  could  hear  a little. 
As  for  visceral  sensations,  she  had  had  no  hunger 
or  thirst  for  two  years,  but  she  was  warned  by  feel- 
ing of  the  evacuative  needs.  She  laughs  at  a joke, 
shows  definitely  grief,  shame,  surprise,  fear,  and  re- 
pulsion. Dr.  Berkley  writes  to  Dr.  Worcester  as  fol- 
lows : “My  own  impression  derived  from  observation 
of  the  patient,  is  that  all  mental  emotional  sensi- 

[*  See  above,  p.  271.  Ed.]  2 Brain,  Part  IV,  1891. 


365 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0894] 


bilities  are  present,  and  only  a little  less  vivid  than 
in  the  unanoesthetic  state;  and  that  emotions  are 
approximately  natural  and  not  at  all  coldly  dis- 
passionate.” 

The  second  case  was  that  of  a Russian  woman 
with  complete  loss  of  cutaneous,  and  almost  com- 
plete loss  of  muscular,  sensibility.  Sight,  smell, 
hearing  preserved,  and  nothing  said  of  visceral  sen- 
sation (in  Dr.  Worcester’s  citation).  She  showed 
anger  and  amusement,  and  not  the  slightest  apathy. 

This  last  case  is  obviously  too  incompletely  re- 
ported to  serve ; and  in  the  preceding  one  it  will  be 
noticed  that  certain  degrees  of  visceral  and  of  mus- 
cular sensibility  remained.  As  these  seem  the  im- 
portant sorts  emotionally,  she  may  well  have  felt 
emotion.  Dr.  Berkley,  however,  writes  of  her 
“apathy” ; and  it  will  be  noticed  that  he  thinks  her 
emotions  “less  vivid  than  in  the  unanaesthetic  state.” 

In  Dr.  Sollier’s  patient  the  amesthesia  was  far 
more  complete,  and  the  patient  was  examined  for 
the  express  purpose  of  testing  the  dependence  of 
emotion  on  organic  sensibility.  Dr.  Sollier,  more- 
over, experimented  on  two  other  subjects  in  whom 
the  anaesthesia  was  artificially  induced  by  hypnotic 
suggestion.  The  spontaneous  case  was  a man  aged 
forty-four ; the  hypnotic  cases  were  females  of 
hysteric  constitution.1  In  the  man  the  anaesthetic 
condition  extended  so  far  that  at  present  every  sur- 
face, cutaneous  and  mucous,  seems  absolutely  insen- 

1 The  paper,  entitled  ‘‘Recherches  sur  les  Rapports  de  la  Sen- 
sibility et  de  l’Emotion,”  will  be  found  in  the  Revue  Philoso- 
phique  for  March  of  this  year,  Vol.  XXXVII.,  p.  241. 

366 


[1894]  PHYSICAL  basis  of  emotion 


sible.  The  muscular  sense  is  wholly  abolished;  the 
feelings  of  hunger  and  satiety  do  not  exist;  the 
needs  of  defecation  and  micturition  are  unfelt ; taste 
and  smell  are  gone;  sight  much  enfeebled;  hearing 
alone  is  about  normal.  The  cutaneous  and  tendi- 
nous reflexes  are  lacking.  The  physiognomy  has  no 
expression;  speech  is  difficult;  the  entire  muscular 
apparatus  is  half  paralyzed,  so  that  locomotion  is  al- 
most impossible. 

“ ‘I  know / this  patient  says,  That  I have  a heart,  but 
I do  not  feel  it  beat,  except  sometimes  very  faintly.’ 
When  an  event  happens  which  ought  to  affect  it  [the 
heart,  as  I understand  the  text] , he  fails  equally  to  feel 
it.  He  does  not  feel  himself  breathe,  or  know  whether 
he  makes  a strong  or  a weak  inspiration.  ‘I  do  not 
feel  myself  alive,’  he  says.  Early  in  his  illness  he  sev- 
eral times  thought  himself  dead.  He  does  not  know 
whether  he  is  asleep  or  awake.  . . . He  often  has  no 
thoughts.  When  he  does  think  of  anything  it  is  of 
his  home  or  of  the  war  of  1870,  in  which  he  took  part. 
The  people  whom  he  sees  come  and  go  about  him  are 
absolutely  indifferent  to  him.  He  does  not  notice  what 
they  do.  ‘They  do  not  appear,’  he  says,  ‘like  natural 
men  to  me,  but  more  like  mechanisms.’  Similar  per- 
turbations of  perception  occur  also  in  hearing.  ‘I  do 
not  hear  in  the  old  way;  it  is  as  if  it  sounded  in  my 
ear,  but  did  not  enter  into  my  head.  It  does  not  stay 
there  long.’  His  aprosexia  is  complete,  and  he  is  in- 
capable of  interest  in  anything  whatever.  Nothing 
gives  him  pleasure.  ‘I  am  insensible  to  everything; 
nothing  interests  me.  I love  nobody ; neither  do  I dis- 
like anybody.’  He  does  not  even  know  whether  it  would 
give  him  pleasure  to  get  well,  and  when  I tell  him  that 
his  cure  is  possible  it  awakens  no  reaction — not  even 


367 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0894] 


one  of  surprise  or  doubt.  The  only  thing  that  seems 
to  move  him  a little  is  the  visit  of  his  wife.  When  she 
appears  in  the  room  ‘it  gives  me  a stroke  in  the 
stomach,’  he  says;  ‘but  as  soon  as  she  is  there  I wish 
her  away  again.’  He  often  has  a fear  that  his  daugh- 
ter may  be  dead.  ‘If  she  should  die  I believe  I should 
not  survive  her,  although  if  I never  were  to  see  her 
again  it  would  make  no  difference  to  me.’  His  visual 
images  are  non-existent,  and  he  has  no  representation 
of  his  wife  when  she  is  gone.  The  weakness  of  the  sen- 
sations remaining  to  him  gives  him  a sense  of  uncer- 
tainty about  all  things : ‘I  am  never  sure  of  anything.’ 
Nothing  surprises  or  astonishes  him.  His  state  of 
apathy,  of  indifference,  of  extreme  emotionlessness,  has 
developed  slowly  pari  passu  with  the  amesthesia.  His 
case  realizes,  therefore,  as  completely  as  possible  the 
experiment  desiderated  by  W.  James.” 

In  the  hypnotic  experiments,  Dr.  Sollier  provoked 
in  his  subjects  sometimes  visceral  and  sometimes 
peripheral  anaesthesia,  and  sometimes  both  at  once. 
He  registered  the  organic  reactions  (by  pneumo- 
graph, etc.)  as  far  as  possible,  and  compared  them 
with  those  produced  in  the  same  subject  when  an 
emotion-exciting  idea  was  suggested,  first  in  the 
anaesthetic  and  then  in  the  normal  state.  Finally, 
he  questioned  the  subject  on  the  impressions  she 
had  received.  For  the  detailed  results  the  reader 
must  consult  the  original  paper.  I will  only  men- 
tion those  which  seem  most  important,  as  follows : 

(1)  Complete  peripheral  anaesthesia  abolishes 
completely  the  power  of  movement.  At  the  same 
time  the  limbs  grow  cold  and  sometimes  blue  (247). 

(2)  When  visceral  anaesthesia  is  added,  the 


368 


[1894]  PHYSICAL  basis  of  emotion 


patient  says  she  feels  as  if  she  no  longer  were  alive 
(ibid.). 

(3)  When  totally  anaesthetic  she  feels  no  normal 
emotion  whatever  at  the  suggestion  of  hallucina- 
tions and  delusions  which  have  the  power  of  moving 
her  strongly  when  the  sensibility  is  restored.  When 
the  anaesthesia  is  less  complete  she  may  say  that  she 
feels  not  the  usual  emotion,  but  a certain  stroke  in 
the  head  or  stomach  at  the  reception  of  the  moving 
idea  (250,  254). 

(4)  When  the  anaesthesia  is  solely  peripheral,  the 
emotion  takes  place  with  almost  normal  strength. 

(5)  When  it  is  solely  visceral,  the  emotion  is 
abolished  almost  as  much  as  when  it  is  total,  so  that 
the  emotion  depends  almost  exclusively  on  visceral 
sensations  (258). 

(6)  There  is  sometimes  a very  slight  motor  re- 
action shown  by  the  pneumograph  in  visceral  anaes- 
thesia when  an  exciting  idea  is  suggested  (Figs.  2, 
7 bis),  but  M.  Sollier  thinks  (for  reasons  of  a highly 
speculative  kind)  that  in  complete  inemotivity  the 
visceral  reactions  themselves  do  not  take  place 
(265). 

The  reader  sees  that  M.  Sollier’s  experimental  re- 
sults go  on  the  whole  farther  than  “my  theory”  ever 
required.  With  the  visceral  sensibility  not  only  the 
“coarser”  but  even  the  “subtler”  forms  of  emotion 
depart.  Some  people  must  then  be  admitted  to 
exist  in  whom  the  amount  of  supposed  feeling  that 
is  not  due  to  incoming  currents  is  a negligible  quan- 
tity. Of  course  we  must  bear  in  mind  the  fallibility 

C 


369 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  t1894i 


of  experiments  made  by  tbe  method  of  “suggestion.” 
We  must  moreover  remember  that  the  male  patient’s 
inemotivity  may  have  been  a co-ordinate  result  with 
the  anaesthesia,  of  his  neural  lesions,  and  not  the 
anaesthesia’s  mere  effect.  But  nevertheless,  if  many 
cases  like  those  of  M.  Sollier  should  be  found  by 
other  observers,  I think  that  Professor  Lange’s 
theory  and  mine  ought  no  longer  to  be  treated  as  a 
heresy,  but  might  become  the  orthodox  belief.  That 
part,  if  there  be  any,  of  emotional  feeling  which  is 
not  of  afferent  origin  should  be  admitted  to  be  in- 
significant, and  the  name  “emotion”  should  be  suf- 
fered to  connote  organic  excitement  as  the  distinc- 
tive feature  of  the  state. 


370 


XXVI 


THE  KNOWING  OF  THINGS 
TOGETHER  1 

[1895] 

I 

The  nature  of  the  synthetic  unity  of  consciousness 
is  one  of  those  great  underlying  problems  that  di- 
vide the  psychological  schools.  We  know,  say,  a 
dozen  things  singly  through  a dozen  different  men- 
tal states.  But  on  another  occasion  we  may  know 
the  same  dozen  things  together  through  a single 
mental  state.  The  problem  is  as  to  the  relation  of 
the  previous  many  states  to  the  later  one  state. 

*Read  as  the  President’s  Address  before  the  American  Psy- 
chological Association  at  Princeton,  December,  1894,  and  re- 
printed with  some  unimportant  omissions,  a few  slight  revisions, 
and  the  addition  of  some  explanatory  notes.  [Reprinted  from 
the  Psychological  Review,  1895,  2,  105-124.  Pages  374—379,  deal- 
ing with  the  distinction  between  representative  and  immediate 
knowledge,  were  reprinted  in  The  Meaning  of  Truth  (1909), 
pp.  43-50,  under  the  title  of  “The  Tigers  in  India.”  For  a later 
elaboration  of  this  topic,  cf.  also  Essays  in  Radical  Empiricism 
(1912),  pp.  1-91.  The  remainder  of  the  present  article,  dealing 
with  the  problem  of  the  unity  of  consciousness,  should  be  read 
in  the  light  of  the  earlier  view  maintained  in  the  Principles 
(1890),  Vol.  I.,  pp.  177,  278,  and  passim,  and  the  later  view 
adopted  in  The  Pluralistic  Universe  (1909),  pp.  190,  205-212. 
It  was  on  this  issue  of  “the  compounding  of  consciousness”  that 
James  finally  broke  with  “logic”  and  adopted  Bergsonism 
(Hid.,  212,  214 j.  Ed.] 


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COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0895] 


In  physical  nature,  it  is  universally  agreed,  a multi- 
tude of  facts  always  remain  the  multitude  they  were 
and  appear  as  one  fact  only  when  a mind  comes 
upon  the  scene  and  so  views  them,  as  when  H-O-H 
appear  as  “water”  to  a human  spectator.  But  when, 
instead  of  extramental  “things,”  the  mind  com- 
bines its  own  “contents”  into  a unity,  what  happens 
is  much  less  plain. 

The  matters  of  fact  that  give  the  trouble  are 
among  our  most  familiar  experiences.  We  know  a 
lot  of  friends  and  can  think  of  each  one  singly. 
But  we  can  also  think  of  them  together,  as  compos- 
ing a “party”  at  our  house.  We  can  see  single  stars 
appearing  in  succession  between  the  clouds  on  a 
stormy  night,  but  we  can  also  see  whole  constella- 
tions of  those  stars  at  once  when  the  wind  has 
blown  the  clouds  away.  In  a glass  of  lemonade  we 
can  taste  both  the  lemon  and  the  sugar  at  once.  In 
a major  chord  our  ear  can  single  out  the  c,  e,  g,  and 
c' , if  it  has  once  become  acquainted  with  these  notes 
apart.  And  so  on  through  the  whole  field  of  our  ex- 
perience, whether  conceptual  or  sensible.  Neither 
common  sense  nor  commonplace  psychology  finds 
anything  special  to  explain  in  these  facts.  Common 
sense  simply  says  the  mind  “brings  the  things  to- 
gether,” and  common  psychology  says  the  “ideas”  of 
the  various  things  “combine,”  and  at  most  will  ad- 
mit that  the  occasions  on  which  ideas  combine  may 
be  made  the  subject  of  inquiry.  But  to  formulate 
the  phenomenon  of  knowing  things  together  thus  as 
a combining  of  ideas,  is  already  to  foist  in  a theory 


372 


[1895]  KNOWING  of  things  together 


about  the  phenomenon  simply.  Not  so  should  a 
question  be  approached.  The  phenomenon  offers 
itself,  in  the  first  instance,  as  that  of  knowing  things 
together ; and  it  is  in  those  terms  that  its  solution 
must,  in  the  first  instance  at  least,  be  sought. 

“Things,”  then;  to  “know”  things;  and  to  know 
the  “same”  things  “together”  which  elsewhere  we 
knew  singly — here,  indeed,  are  terms  concerning 
each  of  which  we  must  put  the  question,  “What  do 
we  mean  by  it  when  we  use  it?” — that  question  that 
Shadworth  Hodgson  lays  so  much  stress  on,  and 
that  is  so  well  taught  to  students,  as  the  beginning 
of  all  sound  method,  by  our  colleague  Fullerton. 
And  in  exactly  ascertaining  what  we  do  mean  by 
such  terms  there  might  lie  a lifetime  of  occupation. 

For  we  do  mean  something;  and  we  mean  some- 
thing true.  Our  terms,  whatever  confusion  they 
may  connote,  denote  at  least  a fundamental  fact 
of  our  experience,  whose  existence  no  one  here 
present  will  deny. 

II 

What,  then,  do  we  mean  by  “things”?  To  this 
question  I can  only  make  the  answer  of  the  idealistic 
philosophy.1  For  the  philosophy  that  began  with 
Berkeley,  and  has  led  up  in  our  tongue  to  Shad- 
worth  Hodgson,  things  have  no  other  nature  than 
thoughts  have,  and  we  know  of  no  things  that  are 

['This  view  James  later  modifies.  The  “radical  empiricism” 
which  he  later  formulates  “has,  in  fact,  more  affinities  with 
natural  realism  than  with  the  views  of  Berkeley  or  of  Mill” 
( Essays  in  Radical  Empiricism,  1912,  p.  76).  Ed.] 


373 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0895] 


not  given  to  somebody’s  experience.  When  I see 
the  thing  white  paper  before  my  eyes,  the  nature  of 
the  thing  and  the  nature  of  my  sensations  are  one. 
Even  if  with  science  we  supposed  a molecular  archi- 
tecture beneath  the  smooth  whiteness  of  the  paper, 
that  architecture  itself  could  only  be  defined  as  the 
stuff  of  a farther  possible  experience,  a vision,  say, 
of  certain  vibrating  particles  with  which  our  ac- 
quaintance with  the  paper  would  terminate  if 
it  were  prolonged  by  magnifying  artifices  not  yet 
known.  A thing  may  be  my  phenomenon  or  some 
one  else’s ; it  may  be  frequently  or  infrequently  ex- 
perienced; it  may  be  shared  by  all  of  us;  one  of  our 
copies  of  it  may  be  regarded  as  the  original,  and  the 
other  copies  as  representatives  of  that  original;  it 
may  appear  very  differently  at  different  times;  but 
whatever  it  be,  the  stuff  of  which  it  is  made  is 
thought-stuff,  and  whenever  we  speak  of  a thing 
that  is  out  of  our  own  mind,  we  either  mean  noth- 
ing ; or  we  mean  a thing  that  was  or  will  be  in  our 
own  mind  on  another  occasion ; or,  finally,  we  mean 
a thing  in  the  mind  of  some  other  possible  receiver 
of  experiences  like  ours. 

Such  being  “things,”  what  do  we  mean  by  saying 
that  we  “know”  them? 

There  are  two  ways  of  knowing  things,  knowing 
them  immediately  or  intui  tively,  and  knowing  them 
conceptually  or  representatively.  Although  such 
things  as  the  white  paper  before  our  eyes  can  be 
known  intuitively,  most  of  the  things  we  know,  the 
tigers  now  in  India,  for  example,  or  the  scholastic 


374 


[1895]  KNOWING  of  things  together 


system  of  philosophy,  are  known  only  representa- 
tively or  symbolically. 

Suppose,  to  fix  our  ideas,  that  we  take  first  a case 
of  conceptual  knowledge;  and  let  it  be  our  knowl- 
edge of  the  tigers  in  India,  as  we  sit  here.  Exactly 
what  do  we  mean  by  saying  that  we  here  know  the 
tigers?  What  is  the  precise  fact  that  the  cogni- 
tion so  confidently  claimed  is  known-as,  to  use 
Shadwortli  Hodgson's  inelegant  but  valuable  form 
of  words? 

Most  men  would  answer  that  what  we  mean  by 
knowing  the  tigers  is  having  them,  however  absent  in 
body,  become  in  some  way  present  to  our  thought; 
or  that  our  knowledge  of  them  is  known  as  presence 
of  our  thought  to  them.  A great  mystery  is  usually 
made  of  this  peculiar  presence  in  absence ; and  the 
scholastic  philosophy,  which  is  only  common  sense 
grown  pedantic,  would  explain  it  as  a peculiar  kind 
of  existence,  called  intentional  inexistence,  of  the 
tigers  in  our  mind.  At  the  very  least,  people  would 
say  that  what  we  mean  by  knowing  the  tigers  is 
mentally  pointing  towards  them  as  we  sit  here. 

But  now  what  do  we  mean  by  pointing,  in  such  a 
case  as  this?  What  is  the  pointing  known-as, 
here  ? 

To  this  question  I shall  have  to  give  a very 
prosaic  answer — one  that  traverses  the  preposses- 
sions not  only  of  common  sense  and  scholasticism, 
but  also  those  of  nearly  all  the  epistemological 
writers  whom  I have  ever  read.  The  answer,  made 
brief,  is  this : The  pointing  of  our  thought  to  the 

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COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0895] 


tigers  is  known  simply  and  solely  as  a procession 
of  mental  associates  and  motor  consequences  that 
follow  on  the  thought,  and  that  would  lead  harmoni- 
ously, if  followed  out,  into  some  ideal  or  real  con- 
text, or  even  into  the  immediate  presence,  of  the 
tigers.  It  is  known  as  our  rejection  of  a jaguar, 
if  that  beast  were  shown  us  as’  a tiger ; as  our  assent 
to  a genuine  tiger  if  so  shown.  It  is  known  as  our 
ability  to  utter  all  sorts  of  propositions  which  don’t 
contradict  other  propositions  that  are  true  of  the 
real  tigers.  It  is  even  known,  if  we  take  the  tigers 
very  seriously,  as  actions  of  ours  which  may  termi- 
nate in  directly  intuited  tigers,  as  they  would  if  we 
took  a voyage  to  India  for  the  purpose  of  tiger- 
hunting and  brought  hack  a lot  of  skins  of  the 
striped  rascals  which  we  had  laid  low.  In  all  this 
there  is  no  self-transcendency  in  our  mental  images 
taken  by  themselves.  They  are  one  physical  fact; 
the  tigers  are  another;  and  their  pointing  to  the 
tigers  is  a perfectly  commonplace  physical  rela- 
tion, if  you  once  grant  a connecting  world  to  be 
there.  In  short,  the  ideas  and  the  tigers  are  in 
themselves  as  loose  and  separate,  to  use  Hume’s 
language,  as  any  two  things  can  be;  and  pointing 
means  here  an  operation  as  external  and  adventi- 
tious as  any  that  nature  yields.1 

stone  in  one  field  may  “fit,”  we  say,  a hole  in  another 
field.  But  the  relation  of  “fitting,”  so  long  as  no  one  carries 
the  stone  to  the  hole  and  drops  it  in,  is  only  one  name  for  the 
fact  that  such  an  act  may  happen.  Similarly  with  the  know 
ing  of  the  tigers  here  and  now.  It  is  only  an  anticipatory  name 
for  a further  associative  and  terminative  process  that  may 


occur. 


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[1895]  KNOWING  of  things  together 


I hope  yon  may  agree  with  me  now  that  in  rep- 
resentative knowledge  there  is  no  special  inner  mys- 
tery, but  only  an  outer  chain  of  physical  or  mental 
intermediaries  connecting  thought  and  thing.  To 
know  an  object  is  here  to  lead  to  it  through  a con- 
text which  the  world  supplies.  All  this  was  most 
instructively  set  forth  by  our  colleague  Miller,  of 
Bryn  Mawr,  at  our  meeting  in  New  York  last 
Christmas,  and  for  re-confirming  my  sometime 
wavering  opinion,  I owe  him  this  acknowledg- 
ment.1 

Let  us  next  pass  on  to  the  case  of  immediate  or 
intuitive  acquaintance  with  an  object,  and  let  the  ob- 
ject be  the  white  paper  before  our  eyes.  The  thought- 
stuff  and  the  thing-stuff  are  here  indistinguish- 
ably  the  same  in  nature,  as  we  saw  a moment  since, 
and  there  is  no  context  of  intermediaries  or  associ- 
ates to  stand  between  and  separate  the  thought  and 
thing.  There  is  no  “presence  in  absence”  here,  and 
no  “pointing,”  but  rather  an  all-round  embracing  of 
the  paper  by  the  thought;  and  it  is  clear  that  the 
knowing  cannot  now  be  explained  exactly  as  it  was 
when  the  tigers  were  its  object.  Dotted  all  through 
our  experience  are  states  of  immediate  acquaint- 
ance just  like  this.  Somewhere  our  belief  always 
does  rest  on  ultimate  data  like  the  whiteness, 
smoothness,  or  squareness  of  this  paper.  Whether 
such  qualities  be  truly  ultimate  aspects  of  being  or 
only  provisional  suppositions  of  ours,  held-to  till 

1 See  also  Dr.  Miller’s  article  on  “Truth  and  Error,”  in  the 
Philosophical  Review,  July,  1893. 


377 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0895] 


we  get  better  informed,  is  quite  immaterial  for  our 
present  inquiry.  So  long  as  it  is  believed  in,  we  see 
our  object  face  to  face.  Wliat  now  do  we  mean  by 
“knowing”  such  a sort  of  object  as  this?  For  this 
is  also  the  way  in  which  we  should  know  the  tiger 
if  our  conceptual  idea  of  him  were  to  terminate 
by  having  led  us  to  his  lair. 

This  address  must  not  become  too  long,  so  I must 
give  my  answer  in  the  fewest  words.  And  let  me 
first  say  this : So  far  as  the  white  paper  or  other 
ultimate  datum  of  our  experience  is  considered  to 
enter  also  into  some  one  else’s  experience,  and  we, 
in  knowing  it,  are  held  to  know  it  there  as  well  as 
here;  so  far  again  as  it  is  considered  to  be  a mere 
mask  for  hidden  molecules  that  other  now  impos- 
sible experiences  of  our  own  might  some  day  lay 
bare  to  view;  so  far  it  is  a case  of  tigers  in  India 
again — the  things  known  being  absent  experiences, 
the  knowing  can  only  consist  in  passing  smoothly 
towards  them  through  the  intermediary  context  that 
the  world  supplies.  But  if  our  own  private  vision 
of  the  paper  be  considered  in  abstraction  from  every 
other  event,  as  if  it  constituted  by  itself  the  uni- 
verse (and  it  might  perfectly  well  do  so,  for  aught 
we  can  understand  to  the  contrary),  then  the  paper 
seen  and  the  seeing  of  it  are  only  two  names  for 
one  indivisible  fact  which,  properly  named,  is  the 
datum , the  phenomenon,  or  the  experience.  The 
paper  is  in  the  mind  and  the  mind  is  around  the 
paper,  because  paper  and  mind  are  only  two  names 
that  are  given  later  to  the  one  experience,  when, 


378 


[1895]  KNOWING  of  things  together 


taken  in  a larger  world  of  which  it  forms  a part, 
its  connections  are  traced  in  different  directions.1 
To  know  immediately , then,  or  intuitively,  is  for 
mental  content  and  object  to  be  identical.  This 
is  a very  different  definition  from  that  which  we 
gave  of  representative  knowledge ; but  neither  defini- 
tion involves  those  mysterious  notions  of  self-tran- 
scendency and  presence  in  absence  which  are  such 
essential  parts  of  the  ideas  of  knowledge,  both  of 
common  men  and  of  philosophers.  Is  there  no  ex- 
perience that  can  justify  these  notions,  and  show 
us  somewhere  their  original  ? 

1 What  is  meant  by  this  is  that  “the  experience”  can  be  re- 
ferred to  either  of  two  great  associative  systems,  that  of  the 
experiencer’s  mental  history,  or  that  of  the  experienced  facts 
of  the  world.  Of  both  of  these  systems  it  forms  part,  and  may 
be  regarded,  indeed,  as  one  of  their  points  of  intersection.  One 


might  let  a vertical  line  stand  for  the  mental  history ; but  the 
same  object,  O,  appears  also  in  the  mental  history  of  different 
persons,  represented  by  the  other  vertical  lines.  It  thus  ceases 
to  be  the  private  property  of  one  experience,  and  becomes,  so 
to  speak,  a shared  or  public  thing.  We  can  track  its  outer 
history  in  this  way,  and  represent  it  by  the  horizontal  line.  [It 
is  also  known  representatively  at  other  points  of  the  vertical 
lines,  or  intuitively  there  again,  so  that  the  line  of  its  outer 
history  would  have  to  be  looped  and  wandering,  but  I make  it 
straight  for  simplicity’s  sake.]  In  any  case,  however,  it  is  the 
same  stuff  that  figures  in  all  the  sets  of  lines. 


379 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0895] 


I think  the  mystery  of  presence  in  absence  (though 
we  fail  to  find  it  between  one  experience  and  another 
remote  experience  to  which  it  points,  or  between  the 
“content”  and  “object”  of  any  one  experience  falsely 
rent  asunder  by  the  application  to  it  of  these  two 
separate  names)  may  yet  be  found,  and  found  be- 
tween the  parts  of  a single  experience.  Let  us 
look  for  it,  accordingly,  in  its  simplest  possible 
form.  What  is  the  smallest  experience  in  which 
the  mystery  remains?  If  we  seek,  we  find  that  there 
is  no  datum  so  small  as  not  to  show  the  mystery. 
The  smallest  effective  pulse  of  consciousness,  what- 
ever else  it  may  be  consciousness  of,  is  also  con- 
sciousness of  passing  time.  The  tiniest  feeling  that 
we  can  possibly  have  involves  for  future  reflection 
two  sub-feelings,  one  earlier  and  the  other  later,  and 
a sense  of  their  continuous  procession.  All  this  has 
been  admirably  set  forth  by  Mr.  Shadworth  Hodg- 
son,1 who  shows  that  there  is  literally  no  such  datum 
as  that  of  the  present  moment,  and  no  such  content, 
and  no  such  object,  except  as  an  unreal  postulate 
of  abstract  thought.  The  passing  moment  is  the 
only  thing  that  ever  concretely  was  or  is  or  shall 
be ; and  in  the  phenomenon  of  elementary  memory, 
whose  function  is  to  apprehend  it,  earlier  and  later 
are  present  to  each  other  in  an  experience  that  feels 
either  only  on  condition  of  feeling  both  together. 

We  have  the  same  knowing  together  in  the  mat- 
ter that  fills  the  time.  The  rush  of  our  thought  for- 
ward through  its  fringes  is  the  everlasting  peculiar- 

1 Philosophy  of  Reflection,  Vol.  I.,  p.  248  ff. 

380 


[1895]  KNOWING  of  things  together 


ity  of  its  life.  We  realize  this  life  as  something 
always  off  its  balance,  something  in  transition, 
something  that  shoots  out  of  a darkness  through  a 
dawn  into  a brightness  that  we  know  to  be  the  dawn 
fulfilled.  In  the  very  midst  of  the  alteration  our 
experience  comes  as  one  continuous  fact.  “Yes,” 
we  say  at  the  moment  of  full  brightness,  this  is 
what  I meant.  No,  we  feel  at  the  moment  of  the 
dawning,  this  is  not  yet  the  meaning,  there  is  more 
to  come.  In  every  crescendo  of  sensation,  in  every 
effort  to  recall,  in  every  progress  towards  the  satis- 
faction of  desire,  this  succession  of  an  emptiness  and 
fulness  that  have  reference  to  each  other  and  are  one 
flesh  is  the  essence  of  the  phenomenon.  In  every 
hindrance  of  desire  the  sense  of  ideal  presence  of 
what  is  absent  in  fact,  of  an  absent,  in  a word,  which 
the  only  function  of  the  present  is  to  mean,  is  even 
more  notoriously  there.  And  in  the  movement  of 
thoughts  not  ordinarily  classed  as  involving  desire, 
we  have  the  same  phenomenon.  When  I say  Soc- 
rates is  mortal , the  moment  Socrates  is  incomplete ; 
it  falls  forward  through  the  is  which  is  pure  move- 
ment, into  the  mortal,  which  is  indeed  bare  mortal 
on  the  tongue,  but  for  the  mind,  is  that  mortal,  the 
mortal  Socrates,  at  last  satisfactorily  disposed  of 
and  told  off. 

Here,  then,  inside  of  the  minimal  pulse  of  ex- 
perience which,  taken  as  object,  is  change  of  feel- 
ing, and,  taken  as  content,  is  feeling  of  change,  is 
realized  that  absolute  and  essential  self-transcend- 
ency which  we  swept  away  as  an  illusion  when 

381 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0895] 


we  sought  it  between  a content  taken  as  a whole  and 
a supposed  objective  thing  outside.  Here  in  the 
elementary  datum  of  which  both  our  physical  and 
our  mental  worlds  are  built , we  find  included  both 
the  original  of  presence  in  absence  and  the  proto- 
type of  that  operation  of  knowing  many  things  to- 
gether which  it  is  our  business  to  discuss.1  For 
the  fact  that  past  and  future  are  already  parts  of 
the  least  experience  that  can  really  be,  is  just  like 
what  we  find  in  any  other  case  of  an  experience 
whose  parts  are  many.  Most  of  these  experiences 

1 It  seems  to  me  that  we  have  here  something  like  what  comes 
before  us  in  the  psychology  of  space  and  time.  Our  original 
intuition  of  space  is  the  single  field  of  view ; our  original  intui- 
tion of  time  covers  but  a few  seconds ; yet  by  an  ideal  piecing 
together  and  construction  we  frame  the  notions  of  immensity 
and  eternity,  and  suppose  dated  events  and  located  things 
therein,  of  whose  actual  intervals  we  grasp  no  distinct  idea. 
So  in  the  case  before  us.  The  way  in  which  the  constituents 
of  one  undivided  datum  drag  each  other  in  and  run  into  one, 
saying  this  is  what  that  means,  gives  us  our  original  intuition 
of  what  knowing  is.  That  intuition  we  extend  and  construc- 
tively build  up  into  the  notion  of  a vast  tissue  of  knowledge, 
shed  along  from  experience  to  experience  until,  dropping  the 
intermediary  data  from  our  thought,  we  assume  that  terms  the 
most  remote  still  know  each  other,  just  after  the  fashion  of 
the  parts  of  the  prototypal  fact.  Cognition  here  is  only  con- 
structive, as  we  have  already  seen.  But  he  who  should  say, 
arguing  from  its  nature  here,  that  it  nowhere  is  direct,  and 
seek  to  construct  it  without  an  originally  given  pattern,  would 
be  like  those  psychologists  who  profess  to  develop  our  idea  of 
space  out  of  the  association  of  data  that  possess  no  original 
extensity.  Grant  the  sort  of  thing  that  is  meant  by  presence 
in  absence,  by  self-transcendency,  toy  reference  to  another,  by 
pointing  forward  or  back,  by  knowledge  in  short,  somewhere  in 
our  experience,  be  it  in  ever  so  small  a corner,  and  the  con- 
struction of  pseudo-cases  elsewhere  follows  as  a matter  of 
course.  But  to  get  along  without  the  real  thing  anywhere  seems 
difficult  indeed. 


382 


[1895]  KNOWING  of  things  together 


are  of  objects  perceived  to  be  simultaneous  and  not 
to  be  immediately  successive  as  in  the  heretofore 
considered  case.  The  field  of  view,  the  chord  of 
music,  the  glass  of  lemonade  are  examples.  But 
the  gist  of  the  matter  is  the  same — it  is  always 
knowing-together.  You  cannot  separate  the  con- 
sciousness of  one  part  from  that  of  all  the  rest. 
What  is  given  is  pooled  and  mutual;  there  is  no 
dark  spot,  no  point  of  ignorance;  no  one  fraction 
is  eclipsed  from  any  other’s  point  of  view.  Can 
we  account  for  such  a being-known-together  of 
complex  facts  like  these? 

The  general  nature  of  it  we  can  probably  never 
account  for,  or  tell  how  such  a unity  in  manyness 
can  be,  for  it  seems  to  be  the  ultimate  essence  of 
all  experience,  and  anything  less  than  it  apparently 
cannot  be  at  all.  But  the  particular  conditions 
whereby  we  know  particular  things  together  might 
conceivably  be  traced,  and  to  that  humble  task  I beg 
leave  to  devote  the  time  that  remains. 

Ill 

Let  me  say  forthwith  that  I have  no  pretension 
to  give  any  positive  solution.  My  sole  ambition  now 
is,  by  a little  classification,  to  smooth  the  ground 
somewhat  so  that  some  of  you,  more  able  than  I, 
may  be  helped  to  advance,  before  our  next  meeting 
perhaps,  to  results  that  I cannot  obtain. 

Now,  the  first  thing  that  strikes  us  in  these  com- 
plex cases  is  that  the  condition  by  which  one  thing 


383 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  t1895l 


may  come  to  be  known  together  with  other  things 
is  an  event.  It  is  often  an  event  of  the  purely  physi- 
cal order.  A man  walks  suddenly  into  my  field  of 
view,  and  forthwith  becomes  part  of  it.  I put  a 
drop  of  cologne-water  on  my  tongue,  and,  holding 
my  nostrils,  get  the  taste  of  it  alone,  but  when  I 
open  my  nostrils  I get  the  smell  together  with  the 
taste  in  mutual  suffusion.  Here  it  would  seem  as 
if  a sufficient  condition  of  the  knowing  of  (say) 
three  things  together  were  the  fact  that  the  three 
several  physical  conditions  of  the  knowing  of  each 
of  them  were  realized  at  once.  But  in  many  other 
cases  we  find  on  the  contrary  that  the  physical  con- 
ditions are  realized  without  the  things  being  known 
together  at  all.  When  absorbed  in  experiments 
with  the  cologne-water,  for  example,  the  clock  may 
strike,  and  I not  know  that  it  has  struck.  But 
again,  some  seconds  after  the  striking  has  elapsed, 
I may,  by  a certain  shifting  of  what  we  call  my 
attention,  hark  back  to  it  and  resuscitate  the  sound, 
and  even  count  the  strokes  in  memory.  The  condi- 
tion of  knowing  the  clock’s  striking  is  here  an  event 
of  the  mental  order  which  must  be  added  to  the 
physical  event  of  the  striking  before  I can  know  it 
and  the  cologne-water  at  once.  Just  so  in  the  field 
of  view  I may  entirely  overlook  and  fail  to  notice 
even  so  important  an  object  as  a man,  until  the 
inward  event  of  altering  my  attention  makes  me 
suddenly  see  him  with  the  other  objects  there.  In 
those  curious  phenomena  of  dissociation  of  con- 
sciousness with  which  recent  studies  of  hypnotic, 


384 


[1895]  KNOWING  of  things  together 


hysteric  and  trance  states  have  made  us  familiar 
(phenomena  which  surely  throw  more  new  light 
on  human  nature  than  the  work  of  all  the  psycho- 
physical laboratories  put  together),  the  event  of 
hearing  a “suggestion/’  or  the  event  of  passing  into 
trance  or  out  of  it,  is  what  decides  whether  a human 
figure  shall  appear  in  the  field  of  view  or  disappear, 
and  whether  a whole  set  of  memories  shall  come 
before  the  mind  together,  along  with  its  other  ob- 
jects, or  be  excluded  from  their  company.  There 
is  in  fact  no  possible  object,  however  completely  ful- 
filled may  be  the  outer  condition  of  its  perception, 
whose  entrance  into  a given  field  of  consciousness 
does  not  depend  on  the  additional  inner  event  called 
attention. 

Now,  it  seems  to  me  that  this  need  of  a final 
inner  event,  over  and  above  the  mere  sensorial  con- 
ditions, quite  refutes  and  disposes  of  the  associa- 
tionist  theory  of  the  unity  of  consciousness.  By 
associationist  theory,  I mean  any  theory  that  says, 
either  implicitly  or  explicitly,  that  for  a lot  of  ob- 
jects to  be  known  together,  it  suffices  that  a lot  of 
conscious  states,  each  with  one  of  them  as  its  con- 
tent, should  exist,  as  James  Mill  says,  “synchron- 
ically.”  Synchronical  existence  of  the  ideas  does 
not  suffice,  as  the  facts  we  now  have  abundantly 
show.  Gurney’s,  Binet’s,  and  Janet’s  proofs  of  sev- 
eral dissociated  consciousnesses  existing  synchroni- 
cally,  and  dividing  the  subject’s  field  of  knowledge 
between  them,  is  the  best  possible  refutation  of  any 
such  view. 


385 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0895] 


Union  in  consciousness  must  be  made  by  some- 
thing, must  be  brought  about ; and  to  have  perceived 
this  truth  is  the  great  merit  of  the  anti-association- 
ist  psychologists.1  The  form  of  unity,  they  have  ob- 
stinately said,  must  be  specially  accounted  for ; and 
the  form  of  unity  the  radical  associationists  have  as 
obstinately  shied  away  from  and  ignored,  though 
their  accounts  of  those  preliminary  conditions  that 
supply  the  matters  to  be  united  have  never  been  sur- 
passed. As  far  as  these  go,  we  are  all,  I trust,  asso- 
ciationists, and  reverers  of  the  names  of  Hartley, 
Mill,  and  Bain. 

Let  us  now  rapidly,  review  the  chief  attempts  of 
the  anti-associationists  to  fill  the  gap  they  discern 
so  well  in  the  associationist  tale. 

1.  Attention. — Attention,  we  say,  by  turning  to 
an  object,  includes  it  with  the  rest;  and  the  nam- 
ing of  this  faculty  in  action  has  by  some  writers 
been  considered  a sufficient  account  of  the  decisive 
“event.”2  But  it  is  plain  that  the  act  of  Attention 

1 In  this  rapid  paper  I content  myself  with  arguing  from  the 
experimental  fact  that  something  happens  over  and  above  the 
realization  of  sensorial  conditions,  wherever  an  object  adds 
itself  to  others  already  “before  the  mind.”  I say  nothing  of 
the  logical  self-contradiction  involved  in  the  associationist  doc- 
trine that  the  two  facts,  “A  is  known,”  and  “B  is  known,”  are 
the  third  fact,  “A  -f-  B are  known  together.”  Those  whom  the 
criticisms  already  extant  in  print  of  this  strange  belief  have 
failed  to  convince,  would  not  be  persuaded,  even  though  one 
rose  from  the  dead.  The  appeal  to  the  actual  facts  of  dissocia- 
tion may  make  impression,  however,  even  on  such  hardened 
hearts  as  theirs. 

2 It  might  seem  natural  to  mention  Wundt’s  doctrine  of  “Ap- 
perception” here.  But  I must  confess  my  inability  to  say  any- 
thing about  it  that  would  not  resolve  itself  into  a tedious  corn- 


386 


[1895]  KNOWING  of  things  together 


itself  needs  a farther  account  to  he  given,  and  such 
an  account  is  what  other  theories  of  the  event  im- 
plicitly give. 

We  find  four  main  types1  of  other  theory  of  how 
particular  things  get  known  together,  a physiologi- 
cal, a psychological,  an  animistic,  and  a transcend- 
entalist  type.  Of  the  physiological  or  “psycho- 
physical” type  many  varieties  are  possible,  but  it 
must  be  observed  that  none  of  them  pretends  to  as- 
sign anything  more  than  an  empirical  law.  A 
psycho-physical  theory  can  couple  certain  ante- 
cedent conditions  with  their  result ; but  an  explana- 
tion, in  the  sense  of  an  inner  reason  why  the  result 
should  have  the  nature  of  one  content  with  many 
parts  instead  of  some  entirely  different  nature,  is 
what  a psycho-physical  theory  cannot  give.2 

parison  of  texts.  Being  alternately  described  as  intellection, 
will,  feeling,  synthesis,  analysis,  principle  and  result,  it  is  too 
“protean”  a function  to  lend  itself  to  any  simplified  account 
at  second  hand. 

1 It  is  only  for  the  sake  of  completeness  that  we  need  men- 
tion such  notions  of  a sort  of  mechanical  and  chemical  activity 
between  the  ideas  as  we  find  in  Herbart,  Steinthal,  and  others. 
These  authors  see  clearly  that  mere  syn chronical  existence  is 
not  combination,  and  attribute  to  the  ideas  of  dynamic  influ- 
ences upon  each  other ; pressures  and  resistances  according  to 
Herbart,  and  according  to  Steinthal  “psychic  attractions.” 
But  the  philosophical  foundations  of  such  physical  theories  have 
been  so  slightly  discussed  by  their  authors  that  it  is  better  to 
treat  them  only  as  rhetorical  metaphors  and  pass  on.  Herbart, 
moreover,  must  also  be  mentioned  later,  along  with  the  animis- 
tic writers. 

1 We  find  this  impotence  already  when  we  seek  the  conditions 
of  the  passing  pulse  of  consciousness,  which,  as  we  saw,  always 
involves  time  and  change.  We  account  for  the  passing  pulse, 
physiologically,  by  the  overlapping  of  dying  and  dawning 


387 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0895] 


2.  Reminiscence.  — Now,  empirically,  we  have 
learned  that  things  must  be  known  in  succession 
and  singly  before  they  can  be  known  together.1  If 
A,  B,  and  C,  for  example,  were  outer  things  that 
came  for  the  first  time  and  affected  our  senses  all 
at  once,  we  should  get  one  content  from  the  lot  of 
them  and  make  no  discriminations.  The  content 
would  symbolically  point  to  the  objects  A,  B,  C, 
and  eventually  terminate  there,  but  woidd  contain 
no  parts  that  were  immediately  apprehended  as 
standing  for  A,  B,  and  C severally.  Let  A,  B,  and  C 
stand  for  pigments,  or  for  a tone  and  its  overtones, 
and  you  will  see  what  I mean  when  I say  that  the 
first  result  on  consciousness  of  their  falling  together 
on  the  eye  or  ear  would  be  a single  new  kind  of 
feeling  rather  than  a feeling  with  three  kinds  of 
inner  part.  Such  a result  has  been  ascribed  to  a 
“fusion”  of  the  three  feelings  of  A,  B,  and  C;  but 
there  seems  no  ground  for  supposing  that,  under  the 
conditions  assumed,  these  distinct  feelings  have  ever 
been  aroused  at  all.  I should  call  the  phenomenon 
one  of  indiscriminate  knowing  together,  for  the  most 

brain-processes;  and  at  first  sight  the  elements  time  and 
change,  involved  in  both  the  brain-processes  and  their  mental 
result,  give  a similarity  that,  we  feel,  might  be  the  real  reason 
for  the  psycho-physic  coupling.  But  the  moment  we  ask  “meta- 
physical” questions — “Why  not  each  brain-process  felt  apart? — 
Why  just  this  amount  of  time,  neither  more  nor  less?”  etc., 
etc. — we  find  ourselves  falling  back  on  the  empirical  view  as  the 
only  safe  one  to  defend. 

1 The  latest  empirical  contribution  to  this  subject,  with  which 
I am  acquainted,  is  Dr.  Herbert  Nichols’s  excellent  little  mono- 
graph, Our  Notions  of  Number  and  Space.  Boston : Ginn  & 
Co.,  1894. 


388 


[1895]  KNOWING  of  things  together 


we  can  say  under  the  circumstances  is  that  the  con- 
tent resembles  somewhat  each  of  the  objects  A,  B, 
and  C,  and  knows  them  each  potentially,  knows 
them,  that  is,  by  possibly  leading  to  each  smoothly 
hereafter,  as  we  know  Indian  tigers  even  whilst  sit- 
ting in  this  room. 

But  if  our  memory  possess  stored-up  images  of 
former  A-s,  B-s,  and  C-s,  experienced  in  isolation,  we 
get  an  altogether  different  content,  namely,  one 
through  which  we  know  A,  B,  and  0 together,  and 
yet  know  each  of  them  in  discrimination  through 
one  of  the  content’s  own  parts.  This  has  been 
called  a “colligation”  or  Verknupfung  of  the  “ideas” 
of  A,  B,  and  C,  to  distinguish  it  from  the  aforesaid 
fusion.  Whatever  we  may  call  it,  we  see  that  its 
physiological  condition  is  more  complex  than  in  the 
previous  case.  In  both  cases  the  outer  objects,  A, 
B,  and  C,  exert  their  effects  on  the  sensorium.  But 
in  this  case  there  is  a co-operation  of  higher  tracts  of 
memory  which  in  the  former  case  was  absent.  Dis- 
criminative knowing-together,  in  short,  involves 
higher  processes  of  reminiscence.  Do  these  give 
the  element  of  manyness,  whilst  the  lower  sensorial 
processes  that  by  themselves  would  result  in  mere 
“fusion,”  give  the  unity  to  the  experience?  The 
suggestion  is  one  that  might  repay  investigation, 
although  it  has  against  it  two  pretty  solid  objec- 
tions : first,  that  in  man  the  consciousness  attached 
to  infra-cortical  centres  is  altogether  subliminal,  if 
it  exist;  and,  second,  that  in  the  cortex  itself  we 
have  not  yet  discriminated  sensorial  from  ideational 


389 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  D895] 


processes.  Possibly  the  frontal  lobes,  in  which 
Wundt  has  supposed  an  Apperceptionsorgan,  might 
serve  a turn  here.  In  any  case  it  is  certain  that, 
into  our  present  rough  notions  of  the  cortical  func- 
tions, the  future  will  have  to  weave  distinctions  at 
present  unknown. 

3.  Synergy. — The  theory  that,  physiologically,  the 
oneness  precedes  the  manyness,  may  be  contrasted 
with  a theory  that  our  colleagues  Baldwin  and 
Munsterberg  are  at  present  working  out,  and  which 
places  the  condition  of  union  of  many  data  into 
one  datum,  in  the  fact  that  the  many  pour  them- 
selves into  one  motor  discharge.  The  motor  dis- 

* 

charge  being  the  last  thing  to  happen,  the  condi- 
tion of  manyness  would  physiologically  here  precede 
and  that  of  oneness  follow.  A printed  word  is  ap- 
prehended as  one  object,  at  the  same  time  that  each 
letter  in  it  is  apprehended  as  one  of  its  parts.  Our 
secretary,  Cattell,  long  ago  discovered  that  we 
recognize  words  of  four  or  five  letters  by  the  eye  as 
quickly,  or  even  more  quickly,  than  we  recognize 
single  letters.  Recognition  means  here  the  motor 
process  of  articulation;  and  the  quickness  comes 
from  the  fact  that  all  the  letters  in  the  particular 
combination  unhesitatingly  co-operate  in  the  one 
articulatory  act.  I suppose  such  facts  as  these  to 
lie  at  the  base  of  our  colleagues’  theories,  which 
probably  differ  in  detail,  and  which  it  would  be 
manifestly  unjust  to  discuss  or  guess  about  in  ad- 
vance of  their  completer  publication.  Let  me  only 
say  that  I hope  the  latter  may  not  be  long  delayed. 


390 


[1895]  KNOWING  of  things  together 


These  are  the  only  types  of  physiological  theory 
worthy  of  mention.  I may  next  pass  to  what,  for 
brevity’s  sake,  may  be  called  'psychological  accounts 
of  the  event  that  lets  an  object  into  consciousness, 
or,  by  not  occurring,  leaves  it  out.  These  accounts 
start  from  the  fact  that  what  figures  as  part  of 
a larger  object  is  often  perceived  to  have  relations 
to  the  other  parts.  Accordingly  the  event  in  ques- 
tion is  described  as  an  act  of  relating  thought.  It 
takes  two  forms. 

4.  Relating  to  Self. — Some  authors  say  that  noth- 
ing can  enter  consciousness  except  on  condition  that 
it  be  related  to  the  self.  Not  object,  but  object- 
plus-me,  is  the  minimum  knowable. 

5.  Relating  to  other  Objects. — Others  think  it 
enough  if  the  incoming  object  be  related  to  the 
other  objects  already  there.  To  fail  to  appear  re- 
lated is  to  fail  to  be  known  at  all.  To  appear  re- 
lated is  to  appear  with  other  objects.  If  relations 
were  correlates  of  special  cerebral  processes,  the 
addition  of  these  to  the  sensorial  processes  would  be 
the  wished-for  event.  But  brain  physiology  as  yet 
knows  nothing  of  such  special  processes,  so  I have 
called  this  explanation  purely  psychological.  There 
seem  to  be  fatal  objections  to  it  as  a universal  state- 
ment, for  the  reference  to  self,  if  it  exist,  must  in  a 
host  of  cases  be  altogether  subconscious ; and  intro- 
spection assures  us  that  in  many  half-waking  and 
half-drunken  states  the  relations  between  things 
that  we  perceive  together  may  be  of  the  dimmest  and 
most  indefinable  kind. 


391 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0895] 


6.  The  Individual  SoiM — So  we  next  proceed  to 
the  animistic  account.  By  this  term  I mean  to 
cover  every  sort  of  individualistic  soul-theory.  I 
will  say  nothing  of  older  opinions;  hut  in  modern 
times  we  have  two  views  of  the  way  in  which  the 
union  of  a many  by  a soul  occurs.  For  Herbart, 
for  example,  it  occurs  because  the  soul  itself  is 
unity,  and  all  its  Selbsterhaltungen  are  obliged  to 
necessarily  share  this  form.  For  our  colleague  Ladd, 
on  the  other  hand,  to  take  the  best  recent  example, 
it  occurs  because  the  soul,  which  is  a real  unity 
indeed,  furthermore  performs  a unifying  act  on  the 
naturally  separate  data  of  sense — an  act,  moreover, 
for  which  no  psycho-physical  analogon  can  be  found. 
It  must  be  admitted  that  much  of  the  reigning  bias 
against  the  soul  in  so-called  scientific  circles  is  an 
unintelligent  prejudice,  traceable  far  more  to  a 
vague  impression  that  it  is  a theological  supersti- 
tion than  to  exact  logical  grounds.  The  soul  is 
an  “entity,”  and,  indeed,  that  worst  sort  of  entity, 
a “scholastic  entity” ; and,  moreover,  it  is  something 
to  be  damned  or  saved;  so  let’s  have  no  more  of 
it!  I am  free  to  confess  that  in  my  own  case  the 
antipathy  to  the  soul  with  which  I find  myself 
burdened  is  an  ancient  hardness  of  heart  of  which 
I can  frame  no  fully  satisfactory  account  even  to 
myself.  I passively  agree  that  if  there  were  souls 
that  we  could  use  as  principles  of  explanation,  the 
formal  settlement  of  the  questions  now  before  us 
could  run  far  more  smoothly  towards  its  end.  I 
admit  that  a soul  is  a medium  of  union,  and  that 


392 


[1895]  KNOWING  of  things  together 


brain-processes  and  ideas,  be  they  never  so  “syn- 
chronical,”  leave  all  mediating  agency  out.  Yet, 
in  spite  of  these  concessions,  I never  find  myself 
actively  taking  up  the  soul,  so  to  speak,  and  mak- 
ing it  to  do  work  in  my  psychologizing.  I speak  of 
myself  here  because  I am  one  amongst  many,  and 
probably  few  of  us  can  give  adequate  reasons  for 
our  dislike.  The  more  honor  to  our  colleague  from 
Yale,  then,  that  he  remains  so  unequivocally  faith- 
ful to  this  unpopular  principle!  And  let  us  hope 
that  his  forthcoming  book  may  sweep  what  is  blind 
in  our  hostility  away.1 

But  all  is  not  blind  in  our  hostility.  When,  for 
example,  you  say  that  A,  B,  and  0,  which  are  dis- 
tinct contents  on  other  occasions,  are  now  on  this 
occasion  joined  into  the  compound  content  ABC  by 
a unifying  act  of  the  soul,  you  say  little  more  than 
that  now  they  are  united,  unless  you  give  some  hint 
as  to  how  the  soul  unites  them.  When,  for  example, 

1 1 ought,  perhaps,  to  apologize  for  not  expunging  from  my 
printed  text  these  references  to  Professor  Ladd,  which  were 
based  on  the  impression  left  on  my  mind  by  the  termination  of 
his  Physiological  Psychology.  It  would  now  appear  from  the 
paper  read  by  him  at  the  Princeton  meeting,  and  his  Philosophy 
of  Mind,  just  published,  that  he  disbelieves  in  the  soul  of  old- 
fashioned  ontology ; and  on  looking  again  at  the  P.  P.,-  I see 
that  I may  well  have  misinterpreted  his  deeper  meaning  there. 
I incline  to  suspect,  however,  that  he  had  himself  not  fully 
disentangled  it  when  that  work  was  written ; and  that  between 
now  and  then  his  thought  has  been  evolving  somewhat,  as 
Lotze’s  did,  between  his  Medical  Psychology  and  his  Meta- 
physic. It  is  gratifying  to  note  these  converging  tendencies  in 
different  philosophers ; but  I leave  the  text  as  I read  it  at 
Princeton,  as  a mark  of  what  one  could  say  not  so  very  un- 
naturally at  that  date. 


393 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0895] 


the  hysteric  women  which  Pierre  Janet  has  studied 
with  such  loving  care,  go  to  pieces  mentally,  and 
their  souls  are  unable  any  longer  to  connect  the 
data  of  their  experience  together,  though  these  data 
remain  severally  conscious  in  dissociation,  what  is 
the  condition  on  which  this  inability  of  the  soul 
depends?  Is  it  an  impotence  in  the  soul  itself?  or 
is  it  an  impotence  in  the  physiological  conditions, 
which  fail  to  stimulate  the  soul  sufficiently  to  its 
synthetic  task?  The  how  supposes  on  the  soul’s  part 
a constitution  adequate  to  the  act.  An  hypothesis, 
we  are  told  in  the  logic-books,  ought  to  propose  a 
being  that  has  some  other  constitution  and  defini- 
tion than  that  of  barely  performing  the  phenome- 
non it  is  evoked  to  explain.  When  physicists  pro- 
pose the  “ether,”  for  example,  they  propose  it  with 
a lot  of  incidental  properties.  But  the  soul  pro- 
posed to  us  has  no  special  properties  or  constitu- 
tion of  which  we  are  informed.  Nevertheless,  since 
particular  conditions  do  determine  its  activity,  it 
must  have  a constitution  of  some  sort.  In  either 
case,  we  ought  to  know  the  facts.  But  the  soul- 
doctrine,  as  hitherto  professed,  not  only  doesn’t  # 
answer  such  questions,  it  doesn’t  even  ask  them ; 
and  it  must  be  radically  rejuvenated  if  it  expects  to 
be  greeted  again  as  a useful  principle  in  psycho- 
logical philosophy.  Here  is  work  for  our  spiritual- 
ist colleagues,  not  only  for  the  coming  year,  but  for 
the  rest  of  their  lives.1 

1 The  soul  can  be  taken  in  three  ways  as  a unifying  principle. 
An  already  existing  lot  of  animated  sensations  (or  other  psychic 


394 


[1895]  KNOWING  of  things  together 


7.  The  World-soul. — The  second  spiritualist  the- 
ory may  be  named  as  that  of  transcendentalism. 
I take  it  typically  and  not  as  set  forth  by  any  single 
author.  Transcendentalism  explains  things  by  an 
over-soul  of  which  all  separate  souls,  sensations, 
thoughts,  and  data  generally  are  parts.  To  be,  as 
it  would  be  known  together  with  everything  else  in 
the  world  by  this  over-soul,  is  for  transcendentalism 
the  true  condition  of  each  single  thing,  and  to  pass 
into  this  condition  is  for  things  to  fulfil  their  voca- 
tion. Such  being  known  together,  since  it  is  the 
innermost  reality  of  life,  cannot  on  transcendentalist 
principles  be  explained  or  accounted  for  as  a work 
wrought  on  a previous  sort  of  reality.  The  monadic 
soul-theory  starts  with  separate  sensational  data, 
and  must  show  how  they  are  made  one.  The  tran- 
scendentalist theory  has  rather  for  its  task  to  show 
how,  being  one,  they  can  spuriously  and  illusorily 
be  made  to  appear  separate.  The  problem  for  the 

data)  may  be  simply  woven  into  one  by  it;  in  which  case  the 
form  of  unity  is  the  soul’s  only  contribution,  and  the  original 
stuff  of  the  Many  remains  in  the  One  as  its  stuff  also.  Or, 
secondly,  the  resultant  synthetic  One  may  he  regarded  as  an 
immanent  reaction  of  the  Soul  on  the  preexisting  psychic 
Many ; and  in  this  case  the  Soul,  in  addition  to  creating  the 
new  form,  reproduces  in  itself  the  old  stuff  of  the  Many,  super- 
seding it  for  our  use,  and  making  it  for  us  become  subliminal, 
but  not  suppressing  its  existence.  Or,  thirdly,  the  One  may 
again  be  the  Soul’s  immanent  reaction  on  a physiological,  not 
on  a mental,  Many.  In  this  case  preexisting  sensations  or  ideas 
would  not  be  there  at  all,  to  be  either  woven  together  or  super- 
seded. The  synthetic  One  would  be  a primal  psychic  datum 
with  parts,  either  of  which  might  know  the  same  object  that  a 
possible  sensation,  realized  under  other  physiological  conditions, 
could  also  know. 


395 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0895] 


monadic  soul,  in  short,  is  that  of  unification,  and 
the  problem  for  the  over-soul  is  that  of  insulation. 
The  removal  of  insulating  obstructions  would  suffi- 
ciently account  for  things  reverting  to  their  natural 
place  in  the  over-soul  and  being  known  together. 
The  most  natural  insulating  or  individualizing  prin- 
ciple to  invoke  is  the  bodily  organism.  As  the  pipes 
of  an  organ  let  the  pressing  mass  of  air  escape  only 
in  single  notes,  so  do  our  brains,  the  organ  pipes 
of  the  infinite,  keep  back  everything  but  the  slender 
threads  of  truth  to  which  they  may  be  pervious. 
As  they  obstruct  more,  the  insulation  increases,  as 
they  obstruct  less  it  disappears.  Now  transcen- 
dental philosophers  have  as  a rule  not  done 
much  dabbling  in  psychology.  But  one  sees  no  ab- 
stract reason  why  they  might  not  go  into  psychology 
as  fully  as  any  one,  and  erect  a psycho-physical 
science  of  the  conditions  of  more  separate  and  less 
separate  cognition  which  would  include  all  the 
facts  that  psycho-physicists  in  general  might  dis- 
cover. And  they  would  have  the  advantage  over 
other  psycho-physicists  of  not  needing  to  explain 
the  nature  of  the  resultant  knowing-together  when 
it  should  occur,  for  they  could  say  that  they  simply 
begged  it  as  the  ultimate  nature  of  the  world. 

This  is  as  broad  a disjunction  as  I can  make  of 
the  different  ways  in  which  men  have  considered 
the  conditions  of  our  knowing  things  together.  You 
will  agree  with  me  that  I have  brought  no  new  in- 
sight to  the  subject,  and  that  I have  only  gos- 
siped to  while  away  this  unlucky  presidential 


396 


[1895]  KNOWING  of  things  together 


hour  to  which  the  constellations  doomed  me  at  my 
birth.  But  since  gossip  we  have  had  to  have,  let  me 
make  the  hour  more  gossipy  still  by  saying  a final 
word  about  the  position  taken  up  in  my  own  Prin- 
ciples of  Psychology  on  the  general  question  before 
us,  a position  which,  as  you  doubtless  remember,  was 
so  vigorously  attacked  by  our  colleague  from  the 
University  of  Pennsylvania  at  our  meeting  in  New 
York  a year  ago.1  That  position  consisted  in  this, 
that  I proposed  to  simply  eliminate  from  psychology 
“considered  as  a natural  science”  the  whole  business 
of  ascertaining  hoiv  we  come  to  know  things  together 
or  to  know  them  at  all.  Such  considerations,  I said, 
should  fall  to  metaphysics.  That  we  do  know 
things,  sometimes  singly  and  sometimes  together,  is 
a fact.  That  states  of  consciousness  are  the  vehicle 
of  the  knowledge,  and  depend  on  brain  states,  are 
two  other  facts.  And  I thought  that  a natural 
science  of  psychology  might  legitimately  confine 
itself  to  tracing  the  functional  variations  of  these 
three  sorts  of  fact,  and  ascertaining  and  tracing 
what  determinate  bodily  states  are  the  condition 
when  the  states  of  mind  know  determinate  things 
and  groups  of  things.  Most  states  of  mind  can  be 
designated  only  by  naming  what  objects  they  are 
“thoughts-of,”  i.e.,  what  things  they  know. 

Most  of  those  which  know  compound  things  are 
utterly  unique  and  solitary  mental  entities  demon- 

1 Printed  as  an  article  entitled  “The  Psychological  Stand- 
point,” in  this  [ Psychological ] Revieiv, Vol.I.,p.ll3.  (March,  1894.) 
[The  author  was  G.  S.  Fullerton.  For  James’s  own  earlier  views, 
cf.  the  Principles  (1890),  especially  Chaps.  VI.,  IX.  Ed.] 

397 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0895] 


strably  different  from  any  collection  of  simpler 
states  to  which  the  same  objects  might  be  singly 
known.1  Treat  them  all  as  unique  in  entity,  I said 

1 When  they  know  conceptually  they  don’t  even  remotely  re- 
semble the  simpler  states.  When  they  know  intuitively  they 
resemble,  sometimes  closely,  sometimes  distantly,  the  simpler 
states.  The  sour  and  sweet  in  lemonade  are  extremely  unlike 
the  sour  and  sweet  of  lemon  juice  and  sugar,  singly  taken,  yet 
like  enough  for  us  to  “recognize”  these  “objects”  in  the  com- 
pound taste.  The  several  objective  “notes”  recognized  in  the 
chord  sound  differently  and  peculiarly  there.  In  a motley  field 
of  view  successive  and  simultaneous  contrast  give  to  each  sev- 
eral tint  a diffei'ent  hue  and  luminosity  from  that  of  the  “real” 
color  into  which  it  turns  when  viewed  without  its  neighbors 
by  a rested  eye.  The  difference  is  sometimes  so  slight,  however, 
that  we  overlook  the  “representative”  character  of  each  of  the 
parts  of  a complex  content,  and  speak  as  if  the  latter  were  a 
cluster  of  the  original  “intuitive”  states  of  mind  that,  occui-ring 
singly,  know  the  “object’s”  several  parts  in  separation.  Pro- 
fessor Meinong,  for  example,  even  after  the  true  state  of 
things  had  been  admirably  set  forth  by  Herr  H.  Cornelius  (in 
the  Vierteljahrschrift  f.  wiss.  Phil.,  XVI.,  404;  XVII.,  30),  re- 
turns to  the  defence  of  the  radical  associationist  view  (in  the 
Zeitschrift  f.  Psychologie,  VI.,  340,  417).  According  to  him,  the 
single  sensations  of  the  several  notes  lie  unaltered  in  the  chord- 
sensations  ; but  his  analysis  of  the  phenomenon  is  vitiated  by 
his  non-i-ecognition  of  the  fact  that  the  same  objects  ( i.e .,  the 
notes)  can  be  lcnown  representatively  through  one  compound 
state  of  mind,  and  directly  in  several  simple  ones,  without  the 
simple  and  the  compound  states  having  strictly  anything  in 
common  with  each  other.  In  Meinong’s  earlier  work,  Ueber 
Begriff  und  Eigenschaftcn  der  Emp  findung  ( Vierteljahr - 
schrift,  Vol.  XII.),  he  seems  to  me  to  have  hit  the  truth  much 
better,  when  he  says  that  the  aspect  color,  e.g.,  in  a concrete 
sensation  of  red,  is  not  an  abstractable  part  of  the  sensation, 
but  an  external  relation  of  resemblance  between  that  sensation 
and  other  sensations  to  the  whole  lot  of  which  we  give  the  name 
of  colors.  Such,  I should  say,  are  the  aspects  of  c,  e,  g and  c' 
in  the  chord.  We  may  call  them  parts  of  the  chord  if  we  like, 
but  they  are  not  bits  of  it,  identical  with  c’s,  e’s,  g’s,  and  c”s 
elsewhere.  They  simply  resemble  the  c’s,  e’s,  fir’s,  and  c"s  else- 
where, and  know  these  contents  or  objects  representatively. 


398 


[1895]  KNOWING  of  things  together 


then;  let  their  complexity  reside  in  their  plural 
cognitive  function;  and  you  have  a psychology 
which,  if  it  doesn’t  ultimately  explain  the  facts, 
also  does  not,  in  expressing  them,  make  them  self- 
contradictory (as  the  associationist  psychology  does 
when  it  calls  them  many  ideas  fused  into  one  idea) 
or  pretend  to  explain  them  (as  the  soul-theory  so 
often  does)  by  a barren  verbal  principle. 

My  intention  was  a good  one,  and  a natural 
science  infinitely  more  complete  than  the  psychol- 
ogies we  now  possess  could  be  written  without  aban- 
doning its  terms.  Like  all  authors,  I have,  there- 
fore, been  surprised  that  this  child  of  my  genius 
should  not  be  more  admired  by  others — should,  in 
fact,  have  been  generally  either  misunderstood  or 
despised.  But  do  not  fear  that  on  this  occasion  I 
am  either  going  to  defend  or  to  re-explain  the  bant- 
ling. I am  going  to  make  things  more  harmonious 
by  simply  giving  it  up.1  I have  become  convinced 
since  publishing  that  book  that  no  conventional  re- 
strictions can  keep  metaphysical  and  so-called  epi- 
stemological inquiries  out  of  the  psychology  books. 
I see,  moreover,  better  now  than  then  that  my  pro- 
posal to  designate  mental  states  merely  by  their 
cognitive  function  leads  to  a somewhat  strained  way 
of  talking  of  dreams  and  reveries,  and  to  quite  an 
unnatural  way  of  talking  of  some  emotional  states. 
I am  willing,  consequently,  henceforward  that  men- 

['But  cf.  Pluralistic  Universe  (1909),  p.  338,  note,  where  it 
appears  that  he  does  not  abandon  his  earlier  view  unquali- 
fiedly. Ed.] 


399 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0895J 


tal  contents  should  be  called  complex,  just  as  their 
objects  are,  and  this  even  in  psychology.  Not 
because  their  parts  are  separable,  as  the  parts  of 
objects  are,  not  because  they  have  an  eternal  or 
quasi-eternal  individual  existence,  like  the  parts  of 
objects;  for  the  various  “contents”  of  which  they 
are  parts  are  integers,  existentially,  and  their  parts 
only  live  as  long  as  they  live.  Still,  in  them,  we  can 
call  parts,  parts. — But  when,  without  circumlocu- 
tion or  disguise,  I thus  come  over  to  your  views,  I 
insist  that  those  of  you  who  applaud  me  (if  any 
such  there  be)  should  recognize  the  obligations 
which  the  new  agreement  imposes  on  yourselves. 
Not  till  you  have  dropped  the  old  phrases,  so  absurd 
or  so  empty,  of  ideas  “self-compounding”  or  “united 
by  a spiritual  principle” ; not  till  you  have  in  your 
turn  succeeded  in  some  such  long  inquiry  into  con- 
ditions as  the  one  I have  just  failed  in;  not  till  you 
have  laid  bare  more  of  the  nature  of  that  altogether 
unique  kind  of  complexity  in  unity  which  mental 
states  involve;  not  till  then,  I say,  will  psychology 
reach  any  real  benefit  from  the  conciliatory  spirit 
of  which  I have  done  what  I can  to  set  an  example. 


400 


XXVII 


DEGENERATION  AND  GENIUS  1 

[1895] 

If  the  reviewer  might  now  say  a word  of  the 
result  left  on  his  own  mind  by  reading  the  genius- 
controversy,  it  would  run  something  like  this : 
Moreau,  Lombroso  & Co.  have  done  excellent  ser- 
vice in  destroying  the  classic  view  of  genius  as 
something  superhuman  and  flawless.  By  their  fer- 
reting and  prying  and  general  devil’s  advocacy,  they 
have  helped  us  to  an  acquaintance  with  human 
nature  in  concreto,  which  from  every  point  of  view 
is  superior  to  our  old-fashioned  academic  notions. 
Lombroso  in  particular  has  put  us  in  his  debt  by 
his  studies  of  individual  fanatics  and  “mattoids.” 
But  there  the  service  stops,  for  (except  in  Nordau’s 
case)  these  authors  are  incapable  of  logical  or 
psychological  analysis;  and  the  only  conclusion 
that  their  facts  make  more  clear  than  ever — the  con- 
clusion, namely,  that  there  are  no  incompatibles  in 
human  nature,  and  that  any  random  combination  of 

[1The  concluding  paragraphs  of  a series  of  notices  and  re- 
views of  J.  Dallemagne’s  Degen6rds  et  D6s£quili'br6s,  C.  Lom- 
broso’s  Entartung  und  Genie,  M.  Nordau’s  Degeneration  and 
W.  Hirseh’s  Genie  und  Entartung.  Reprinted  from  Psychological 
Review,  1895,  2,  292-294.  Ed.] 


401 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0895] 


mental  elements  tliat  can  be  conceived  may  also  be 
realized  in  some  individual — is  one  that  they  do  not 
draw.  If  we  are  to  make  of  genius  a psychological 
conception  at  all,  it  must  be  a property  of  intellect 
rather  than  of  will  or  feeling.  Narrowed  in  this 
way,  Professor  Bain’s  description  of  it,  as  an  un- 
usual tendency  to  associate  by  similarity  ( a descrip- 
tion with  which  none  of  our  authors  seem  ac- 
quainted), will  stand  firm.  But  it  is  one  thing  to 
have  this  intellectual  condition  of  genius  and  an- 
other to  become  effective  in  history  as  a genius,  and 

• to  figure  in  biographical  dictionaries.  We  all  know 
intellects  of  first-rate  original  quality  whose  names 
are  written  in  water  because  of  the  inferiority  of 
the  other  elements  of  their  nature,  their  lack  of  re- 
mote ideals  and  unifying  aims,  of  passion  and  of 

' staying  power.  On  the  other  hand  we  know  moder- 
ate intellects  who  become  effective  and  even  famous 
in  the  world’s  work  because  of  their  force  of  char- 
acter, their  passionate  interests  and  doggedness  of 

* will.  To  do  anything  with  one’s  genius  requires 
passion;  to  do  much  requires  doggedness.  Hence 
it  comes  that  the  intense  sensibility  of  the  psycho- 
pathic temperament,  when  it  adds  itself  to  a first- 
rate  intellect,  greatly  increases  the  chances  that  the 

‘ latter  will  bear  effective  fruits.  To  be  liable  to  ob- 
session by  ideas,  not  to  be  able  to  rest  till  they  are 
“worked  off,”  ought  then  to  be,  as  they  indeed  are, 
traits  of  character  often  found  amongst  the  men 
whose  names  figure  as  those  of  geniuses  in  the 

‘ cyclopedias.  But  these  traits  have  no  essential  con- 


402 


[1895]  degeneration  and  genius 


nection  with  the  sort  of  intellect  that  makes  the 
men  geniuses.  We  may  find  them  combined  with 
any  sort  of  intellect,  as  we  find  first-rate  intellect 
combined  with  any  sort  of  character.  The  names 
of  Emerson,  Longfellow,  Lowell,  Whittier,  and 
Holmes  would  probably  be  those  first  written  by 
any  one  who  should  be  asked  for  a list  of  the 
geniuses  of  the  community  in  which  I write.  Al- 
though belonging  to  the  class  of  poets  (the  species 
of  genius  most  akin  to  psychopathy  by  the  sensibil- 
ity it  demands),  these  men  were  all  distinguished 
for  balance  of  character  and  common  sense.  So 
Schiller,  so  Browning,  so  George  Sand.  In  poets 
like  Shelley,  Poe,  de  Musset,  on  the  other  hand,  we 
have  the  intellectual  and  passionate  gifts  without 
the  powers  of  inhibition.  In  the  sphere  of  action 
we  have  a similar  diversity  of  mixture : we  find  the 
all-round  men  like  Washington,  Cavour,  and  Glad- 
stone ; the  great  intellects  and  wills  with  no  hearts, 
like  Frederick  the  Great;  the  intense  hearts  and 
wills  with  narrow  intellects,  like  Garibaldi  and 
John  Brown;  the  stubborn  wills  with  mediocre 
hearts  and  intellects,  like  George  III.  or  Philip  II. ; 
and,  finally,  the  real  cranks  and  half-insane  fana- 
tics, often  with  much  of  the  equipment  of  effective 
genius  except  a normal  set  of  “ideas.”  It  all  de- 
pends on  the  mixture ; only  as  the  elements  vary  in- 
dependently, the  chances  that  a freak  of  nature  in 
the  line  of  human  greatness  will  be  as  exceptionally 
strong  in  all  three  elements  of  character  as  he  is  in 
any  one  of  them,  are  small.  Hence  some  lop-sided- 


403 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0895] 


ness  in  almost  all  distinguished  personages,  hence 
the  rarity  of  the  Dantes,  St.  Bernards,  and  Goethes 
among  the  children  of  men. 

One  more  word : there  is  a strong  tendency  among 
these  pathological  writers  to  represent  the  line  of 
mental  health  as  a very  narrow  crack,  which  one 
must  tread  witli  bated  breath,  between  foul  fiends  on 
the  one  side  and  gulfs  of  despond  on  the  other.  Now, 
health  is  a term  of  subjective  appreciation,  not  of 
objective  description,  to  borrow  a nomenclature 
from  Professor  Royce : it  is  a teleological  term.  There 
is  no  purely  objective  standard  of  sound  health. 

* Any  peculiarity  that  is  of  use  to  a man  is  a point 
of  soundness  in  him,  and  what  makes  a man  sound 
for  one  function  may  make  him  unsound  for  an- 

* other.  Moreover,  we  are  all  instruments  for  social 
use;  and  if  sensibilities,  obsessions,  and  other  psy- 
chopathic peculiarities  can  so  combine  with  the  rest 
of  our  constitution  as  to  make  us  the  more  useful  to 
our  kind,  why  then  we  should  not  call  them  in  that 
context  points  of  unhealtliiness,  but  rather  the 
reverse. 

The  trouble  is  that  such  writers  as  Nordau  use 
the  descriptive  names  of  symptoms  merely  as  an 
artifice  for  giving  objective  authority  to  their  per- 
sonal dislikes.  The  medical  terms  become  mere 
“appreciative”  clubs  to  knock  men  down  with.  Cafi 
a man  a “cad”  and  you’ve  settled  his  social  status 
Call  him  a “degenerate,”  and  you’ve  grouped  him 
with  the  most  loathsome  specimens  of  the  race,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  he  may  be  one  of  its  most 


404 


[1895]  DEGENERATION  and  genius 


precious  members.  The  only  sort  of  being,  in  fact, 
who  can  remain  as  the  typical  normal  man,  after  all 
the  individuals  with  degenerative  symptoms  have 
been  rejected,  must  be  a perfect  nullity.  He  must,  • 
it  is  true,  be  able  to  perform  the  necessities  of  na- 
ture and  adapt  himself  to  his  environment  so  as  to 
come  in  when  it  rains;  but  being  free  from  all  the 
excesses  and  superfluities  that  make  Man’s  life  in- 
teresting, without  love,  poetry,  art,  religion,  or  any 
other  ideal  than  pride  in  his  non-neurotic  constitu- 
tion, he  is  the  human  counterpart  of  that  “temper- 
ance” hotel  of  which  the  traveller’s  handbook  said, 
“It  possesses  no  other  quality  to  recommend  it.” 
We  all  remember  the  sort  of  school-boy  who  used  to 
ask  us  six  times  a day  to  feel  of  his  biceps.  The 
sort  of  man  who  pounds  his  mental  chest  and  says 
to  us,  “See,  there  isn’t  a morbid  fibre  in  my  composi- 
tion !”  is  like  unto  him.  Few  more  profitless  mem- 
bers of  the  race  can  be  found.  The  real  lesson  of 
the  genius-books  is  that  we  should  welcome  sensibil- 
ities, impulses,  and  obsessions  if  we  have  them,  so 
long  as  by  their  means  the  field  of  our  experience 
grows  deeper  and  we  contribute  the  better  to  the 
race’s  stores ; that  we  should  broaden  our  notion  of 
health  instead  of  narrowing  it;  that  we  should  re- 
gard no  single  element  of  weakness  as  fatal — in 
short,  that  we  should  not  be  afraid  of  life. 


405 


XXVIII 


PHILOSOPHICAL  CONCEPTIONS  AND 
PRACTICAL  RESULTS  1 

[1898] 

An  occasion  like  the  present  would  seem  to  call 
for  an  absolutely  un technical  discourse.  I ought  to 
speak  of  something  connected  with  life  rather  than 
with  logic.  I ought  to  give  a message  with  a prac- 
tical outcome  and  an  emotional  musical  accompani- 
ment, so  to  speak,  fitted  to  interest  men  as  men,  and 
yet  also  not  altogether  to  disappoint  philosophers — 
since  philosophers,  let  them  be  as  queer  as  they  will, 

[’Reprinted  from  The  University  Chronicle  (Berkeley,  Cali- 
fornia) September,  1898.  An  address  delivered  before  the 
Philosophical  Union  of  the  University  of  California  on  August 
26,  1898.  It  was  reprinted  with  slight  verbal  revision,  and  with 
omission  of  first  three  pages,  and  concluding  paragraph,  in 
Journal  of  Philosophy,  Psychology,  and  Scientific  Methods, 
1904,  1,  673-687,  under  the  title  of  “The  Pragmatic  Method.” 
Afterwards  most  of  pages  410-411  was  used  in  the  Varieties  of 
Religious  Experience  (1902),  p.  444;  and  pp.  415-424  were  re- 
printed with  further  slight  revision  in  Pragmatism  (1907),  pp. 
97-108.  This  article  marks  the  beginning  of  the  pragmatist 
movement.  Nine  years  later,  speaking  of  the  pragmatist  principle 
which  he  attributed  to  Charles  Peirce,  James  wrote:  “It  lay 
entirely  unnoticed  by  any  one  for  twenty  years,  until  I,  in  an 
address  before  Professor  Ilowison’s  philosophical  union  at  the 
University  of  California,  brought  it  forward  again  and  made  a 
special  application  of  it  to  religion.  By  that  date  (1898)  the 
times  seemed  ripe  for  its  reception.  The  word  ‘pragmatism’ 
spread,  and  at  present  it  fairly  spots  the  pages  of  the  philosophi- 
cal journals”  ( Pragmatism , 1907,  p.  47.  Ed.] 


406 


[1898]  PHILOSOPHICAL  conceptions 


still  are  men  in  the  secret  recesses  of  their  hearts, 
even  here  at  Berkeley.  I ought,  I say,  to  produce 
something  simple  enough  to  catch  and  inspire  the 
rest  of  you,  and  yet  with  just  enough  of  ingenuity 
and  oddity  about  it  to  keep  the  members  of  the 
Philosophical  Union  from  yawning  and  letting  their 
attention  wander  away. 

I confess  that  I have  something  of  this  kind  in  my 
mind,  a perfectly  ideal  discourse  for  the  present 
occasion.  Were  I to  set  it  down  on  paper,  I verily 
believe  it  would  be  regarded  by  everyone  as  the 
final  word  of  philosophy.  It  would  bring  theory 
down  to  a single  point,  at  which  every  human 
being’s  practical  life  would  begin.  It  would  solve 
all  the  antinomies  and  contradictions,  it  would  let 
loose  all  the  right  impulses  and  emotions ; and  every- 
one, on  hearing  it,  would  say,  “Why,  that  is  the 
truth ! — that  is  what  I have  been  believing,  that  is 
what  I have  really  been  living  on  all  this  time,  but 
I never  could  find  the  words  for  it  before.  All  that 
eludes,  all  that  flickers  and  twinkles,  all  that  in- 
vites and  vanishes  even  whilst  inviting,  is  here  made 
a solidity  and  a possession.  Here  is  the  end  of  un- 
satisfactoriness, here  *the  beginning  of  unimpeded 
clearness,  joy,  and  power.”  Yes,  my  friends,  I have 
such  a discourse  within  me!  But,  do  not  judge  me 
harshly,  I cannot  produce  it  on  the  present  occasion. 
I humbly  apologize;  I have  come  across  the  conti- 
nent to  this  wondrous  Pacific  Coast — to  this  Eden, 
not  of  the  mythical  antiquity,  but  of  the  solid  future 
of  mankind — I ought  to  give  you  something  worthy 


407 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  [1898] 


of  your  hospitality,  and  not  altogether  unworthy  of 
your  great  destiny,  to  help  cement  our  rugged  East 
and  your  wondrous  West  together  in  a spiritual 
bond, — and  yet,  and  yet,  and  yet,  I simply  cannot. 
I have  tried  to  articulate  it,  but  it  will  not  come. 
Philosophers  are  after  all  like  poets.  They  are  path- 
finders. What  every  one  can  feel,  what  every  one 
can  know  in  the  bone  and  marrow  of  him,  they 
sometimes  can  find  words  for  and  express.  The 
words  and  thoughts  of  the  philosophers  are  not  ex- 
actly the  words  and  thoughts  of  the  poets — worse 
luck.  But  both  alike  have  the  same  function.  They 
are,  if  I may  use  a simile,  so  many  spots,  or  blazes, — 
blazes  made  by  the  axe  of  the  human  intellect  on  the 
trees  of  the  otherwise  trackless  forest  of  human  ex- 
perience. They  give  you  somewhere  to  go  from. 
They  give  you  a direction  and  a place  to  reach. 
They  do  not  give  you  the  integral  forest  with  all  its 
sunlit  glories  and  its  moonlit  witcheries  and  won- 
ders. Ferny  dells,  and  mossy  waterfalls,  and  secret 
magic  nooks  escape  you,  owned  only  by  the  wild 
things  to  whom  the  region  is  a home.  Happy  they 
without  the  need  of  blazes!  But  to  us  the  blazes 
give  a sort  of  ownership.  We  can  now  use  the  for- 
est, wend  across  it  with  companions,  and  enjoy  its 
quality.  It  is  no  longer  a place  merely  to  get  lost 
in  and  never  return.  The  poet’s  words  and  the 
philosopher’s  phrases  thus  are  helps  of  the  most 
genuine  sort,  giving  to  all  of  us  hereafter  the  free- 
dom of  the  trails  they  made.  Though  they  create 
nothing,  yet  for  this  marking  and  fixing  function 


408 


[1898]  PHILOSOPHICAL  conceptions 


of  theirs  we  bless  their  names  and  keep  them  on  onr 
lips,  even  whilst  the  thin  and  spotty  and  half- 
casual character  of  their  operations  is  evident  to 
our  eyes. 

No  one  like  the  pathfinder  himself  feels  the  im- 
mensity of  the  forest,  or  knows  the  accidentality  of 
his  own  trails.  Columbus,  dreaming  of  the  ancient 
East,  is  stopped  by  poor  pristine  simple  America, 
and  gets  no  farther  on  that  day ; and  the  poets  and 
philosophers  themselves  know  as  no  one  else  knows 
that  what  their  formulas  express  leaves  unexpressed 
almost  everything  that  they  organically  divine  and 
feel.  So  I feel  that  there  is  a centre  in  truth’s 
forest  where  I have  never  been : to  track  it  out  and 
get  there  is  the  secret  spring  of  all  my  poor  life’s 
philosophic  efforts ; at  moments  I almost  strike  into 
the  final  valley,  there  is  a gleam  of  the  end,  a sense 
of  certainty,  but  always  there  comes  still  another 
ridge,  so  my  blazes  merely  circle  towards  the  true 
direction;  and  although  now,  if  ever,  would  be  the 
fit  occasion,  yet  I cannot  take  you  to  the  wondrous 
hidden  spot  to-day.  To-morrow  it  must  be,  or  to- 
morrow, or  to-morrow,  and  pretty  surely  death  will 
overtake  me  ere  the  promise  is  fulfilled. 

Of  such  postponed  achievements  do  the  lives  of  all 
philosophers  consist.  Truth’s  fulness  is  elusive;  * 
ever  not  quite,  not  quite!  So  we  fall  back  on  the 
preliminary  blazes — a few  formulas,  a few  technical 
conceptions,  a few  verbal  pointers — which  at  least 
define  the  initial  direction  of  the  trail.  And  that, 
to  my  sorrow,  is  all  that  I can  do  here  at  Berkeley 


409 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0898] 


to-day.  Inconclusive  I must  be,  and  merely  sugges- 
tive, though  I will  try  to  be  as  little  technical  as  I 
can. 

I will  seek  to  define  with  yon  merely  what  seems 
to  be  the  most  likely  direction  in  which  to  start 
upon  the  trail  of  truth.  Years  ago  this  direction 
was  given  to  me  by  an  American  philosopher  whose 
home  is  in  the  East,  and  whose  published  works, 
few  as  they  are  and  scattered  in  periodicals,  are  no 
fit  expression  of  his  powers.  I refer  to  Mr.  Charles 
S.  Peirce,  with  whose  very  existence  as  a philos- 
opher I dare  say  many  of  you  are  unacquainted.  He 
is  one  of  the  most  original  of  contemporary  think- 
ers; and  the  principle  of  practicalism — or  pragma- 
tism, as  he  called  it,  when  I first  heard  him  enunci- 
ate it  at  Cambridge  in  the  early  ’70’s — is  the  clue  or 
compass  by  following  which  I find  myself  more  and 
more  confirmed  in  believing  we  may  keep  our  feet 
upon  the  proper  trail. 

Peirce’s  principle,  as  we  may  call  it,  may  be  ex- 
pressed in  a variety  of  ways,  all  of  them  very  simple. 
In  the  Popular  Science  Monthly  for  January,  1878, 
he  introduces  it  as  follows : The  soul  and  meaning 
of  thought,  he  says,  can  never  be  made  to  direct 
itself  towards  anything  but  the  production  of  belief, 
belief  being  the  demicadence  which  closes  a musical 
phrase  in  the  symphony  of  our  intellectual  life. 
Thought  in  movement  has  thus  for  its  only  possible 
motive  the  attainment  of  thought  at  rest.  But  when 
our  thought  about  an  object  has  found  its  rest  in 
belief,  then  our  action  on  the  subject  can  firmly  and 


410 


[1898]  PHILOSOPHICAL  conceptions 

safely  begin.  Beliefs,  in  short,  are  really  rules  for  * 
action;  and  the  whole  function  of  thinking  is  but 
one  step  in  the  production  of  habits  of  action.  If  ' 
there  were  any  part  of  a thought  that  made  no 
difference  in  the  thought’s  practical  consequences, 
then  that  part  would  be  no  proper  element  of  the 
thought’s  significance.  Thus  the  same  thought  may 
be  clad  in  different  words ; but  if  the  different  words 
suggest  no  different  conduct,  they  are  mere  outer 
accretions,  and  have  no  part  in  the  thought’s  mean- 
ing. If,  however,  they  determine  conduct  differ- 
ently, they  are  essential  elements  of  the  significance. 
“Please  open  the  door,”  and,  “Veuillez  ouvrir  la 
porte,”  in  French,  mean  just  the  same  thing;  but 
“D — n you,  open  the  door,”  although  in  English, 
means  something  very  different.  Thus  to  develop  a * 
thought’s  meaning  we  need  only  determine  what 
conduct  it  is  fitted  to  produce;  that  conduct  is  for 
us  its  sole  significance.  And  the  tangible  fact  at* 
the  root  of  all  our  thought-distinctions,  however 
subtle,  is  that  there  is  no  one  of  them  so  fine  as  to 
consist  in  anything  but  a possible  difference  of  prac- 
tice. To  attain  perfect  clearness  in  our  thoughts  * 
of  an  object,  then,  we  need  only  consider  what  ef- 
fects of  a conceivably  practical  kind  the  object  may 
involve — what  sensations  we  are  to  expect  from  it, 
and  what  reactions  we  must  prepare.  Our  concep- 
tion of  these  effects,  then,  is  for  us  the  whole  of  our 
conception  of  the  object,  so  far  as  that  conception 
has  positive  significance  at  all. 

This  is  the  principle  of  Peirce,  the  principle  of 


411 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  D898] 


pragmatism.  I think  myself  that  it  should  be  ex- 
pressed more  broadly  than  Mr.  Peirce  expresses  it. 

• The  ultimate  test  for  ns  of  what  a truth  means  is 

• indeed  the  conduct  it  dictates  or  inspires.  But  it 
inspires  that  conduct  because  it  first  foretells  some 
particular  turn  to  our  experience  which  shall  call 

• for  just  that  conduct  from  us.  And  I should  prefer 
for  our  purposes  this  evening  to  express  Peirce’s 
principle  by  saying  that  the  effective  meaning  of  any 
philosophic  proposition  can  always  be  brought  down 
to  some  particular  consequence,  in  our  future  prac- 
tical experience,  whether  active  or  passive ; the 
point  lying  rather  in  the  fact  that  the  experience 
must  be  particular,  than  in  the  fact  that  it  must  be 
active. 

To  take  in  the  importance  of  this  principle,  one 
must  get  accustomed  to  applying  it  to  concrete 
cases.  Such  use  as  I am  able  to  make  of  it  con- 
vinces me  that  to  be  mindful  of  it  in  philosophical 
disputations  tends  wonderfully  to  smooth  out  mis- 
understandings and  to  bring  in  peace.  If  it  did 
nothing  else,  then,  it  would  yield  a sovereignly 
valuable  rule  of  method  for  discussion.  So  I shall 
devote  the  rest  of  this  precious  hour  with  you  to  its 
elucidation,  because  I sincerely  think  that  if  you 
once  grasp  it,  it  will  shut  your  steps  out  from  many 
an  old  false  opening,  and  head  you  in  the  true 
direction  for  the  trail. 

‘ One  of  its  first  consequences  is  this.  Suppose 
there  are  two  different  philosophical  definitions,  or 
propositions,  or  maxims,  or  what  not,  which  seem 


412 


[1898]  PHILOSOPHICAL  conceptions 


to  contradict  each  other,  and  about  which  men  dis- 
pute. If,  by  supposing  the  truth  of  the  one,  you  can 
foresee  no  conceivable  practical  consequence  to  any- 
body at  any  time  or  place,  which  is  different  from 
what  you  would  foresee  if  you  supposed  the  truth 
of  the  other,  why  then  the  difference  between  the 
two  propositions  is  no  difference, — it  is  only  a 
specious  and  verbal  difference,  unworthy  of  further 
contention.  Both  formulas  mean  radically  the 
same  thing,  although  they  may  say  it  in  such  dif- 
ferent words.  It  is  astonishing  to  see  how  many 
philosophical  disputes  collapse  into  insignificance 
the  moment  you  subject  them  to  this  simple  test. 
There  can  be  no  difference  which  doesn’t  make  a dif- 
ference-— no  difference  in  abstract  truth  which  does 
not  express  itself  in  a difference  of  concrete  fact, 
and  of  conduct  consequent  upon  the  fact,  imposed 
on  somebody,  somehow,  somewhere,  and  somewhen. 
It  is  true  that  a certain  shrinkage  of  values  often 
seems  to  occur  in  our  general  formulas  when  we 
measure  their  meaning  in  this  prosaic  and  practical 
way.  They  diminish.  But  the  vastness  that  is 
merely  based  on  vagueness  is  a false  appearance  of 
importance,  and  not  a vastness  worth  retaining. 
The  x%  y’ s,  and  s’s  always  do  shrivel,  as  I have 
heard  a learned  friend  say,  whenever  at  the  end  of 
your  algebraic  computation  they  change  into  so 
many  plain  a’s,  6’s,  and  c’s ; but  the  whole  function 
of  algebra  is,  after  all,  to  get  them  into  that  more 
definite  shape ; and  the  whole  function  of  philosophy 
ought  to  be  to  find  out  what  definite  difference  it 


413 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0898] 


will  make  to  you  and  me,  at  definite  instants  of  our 
life,  if  this  world-formula  or  that  world-formula  he 
the  one  which  is  true. 

If  we  start  off  with  an  impossible  case,  we  shall 
perhaps  all  the  more  clearly  see  the  use  and  scope 
of  our  principle.  Let  us,  therefore,  put  ourselves, 
in  imagination,  in  a position  from  which  no  fore- 
casts of  consequence,  no  dictates  of  conduct,  can 
possibly  be  made,  so  that  the  principle  of  pragma- 
tism finds  no  field  of  application.  Let  us,  I mean, 
assume  that  the  present  moment  is  the  absolutely 
last  moment  of  the  world,  with  bare  nonentity  be- 
yond it,  and  no  hereafter  for  either  experience  or 
conduct. 

Now  I say  that  in  that  case  there  would  be  no 
sense  whatever  in  some  of  our  most  urgent  and  en- 
venomed philosophical  and  religious  debates.  The 
question  is,  “Is  matter  the  producer  of  all  things, 
or  is  a God  there  too?”  would,  for  example,  offer  a 
perfectly  idle  and  insignificant  alternative  if  the 
world  were  finished  and  no  more  of  it  to  come. 
Many  of  us,  most  of  us,  I think,  now  feel  as  if  a ter- 
rible coldness  and  deadness  would  come  over  the 
world  were  we  forced  to  believe  that  no  informing 
spirit  or  purpose  had  to  do  with  it,  but  it  merely 
accidentally  had  come.  The  actually  experienced 
details  of  fact  might  be  the  same  on  either  hypoth- 
esis, some  sad,  some  joyous;  some  rational,  some 
odd  and  grotesque ; but  without  a God  behind  them, 
we  think  they  would  have  something  ghastly,  they 
would  tell  no  genuine  story,  there  would  be  no  spec- 


414 


[1898]  PHILOSOPHICAL  conceptions 


ulation  in  those  eyes  that  they  do  glare  with.  With 
the  God,  on  the  other  hand,  they  would  grow  solid, 
warm,  and  altogether  full  of  real  significance. 

But  I say  that  such  an  alternation  of  feelings, 
reasonable  enough  in  a consciousness  that  is  pro- 
spective, as  ours  now  is,  and  whose  world  is  partly 
yet  to  come,  would  be  absolutely  senseless  and  irra- 
tional in  a purely  retrospective  consciousness  sum- 
ming up  a world  already  past.  For  such  a con- 
sciousness, no  emotional  interest  could  attach  to  the 
alternative.  The  problem  would  be  purely  intel- 
lectual; and  if  unaided  matter  could,  with  any 
scientific  plausibility,  be  shown  to  cipher  out  the 
actual  facts,  then  not  the  faintest  shadow  ought  to 
cloud  the  mind,  of  regret  for  the  God  that  by  the 
same  ciphering  would  prove  needless  and  disappear 
from  our  belief. 

For  just  consider  the  case  sincerely,  and  say  what 
would  be  the  worth  of  such  a God  if  he  were  there, 
with  his  work  accomplished  and  his  world  run 
down.1  He  would  be  worth  no  more  than  just  that 
world  was  worth.  To  that  amount  of  result,  with 
its  mixed  merits  and  defects,  his  creative  power 
could  attain,  but  go  no  farther.  And  since  there  is 

t1  Of  this  and  the  following  passage  'James  later  wrote : “I 
had  no  sooner  given  the  address  than  I perceived  a flaw  in  that 
part  of  it ; but  I have  left  the  passage  unaltered  ever  since,  be- 
cause the  flaw  did  not  spoil  its  illustrative  value.  . . . Even  if 
matter  could  do  every  outward  thing  that  God  does,  the  idea 
of  it  would  not  work  as  satisfactorily,  because  the  chief  call  for 
a God  on  modern  men’s  part  is  for  a being  who  will  inwardly 
recognize  them  and  judge  them  sympathetically”  (T he  Meaning 
of  Truth,  1909,  pp.  189-190,  note).  Ed.] 


415 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0898] 


to  be  no  future ; since  the  whole  value  and  meaning 
of  the  world  has  been  already  paid  in  and  actualized 
in  the  feelings  that  went  with  it  in  the  passing,  and 
now  go  with  it  in  the  ending ; since  it  draws  no  sup- 
plemental significance  (such  as  our  real  world 
draws)  from  its  function  of  preparing  something 
yet  to  come ; why  then,  by  it  we  take  God’s  measure, 
as  it  were.  He  is  the  Being  who  could  once  for  all 
do  that;  and  for  that  much  we  are  thankful  to  him, 
but  for  nothing  more.  But  now,  on  the  contrary 
hypothesis,  namely,  that  the  bits  of  matter  follow- 
ing their  “laws”  could  make  that  world  and  do  no 
less,  should  we  not  be  just  as  thankful  to  them? 
Wherein  should  we  suffer  loss,  then,  if  we  dropped 
God  as  an  hypothesis  and  made  the  matter  alone 
responsible?  Where  would  the  special  deadness, 
“crassness,”  and  ghastliness  come  in?  And  how, 
experience  being  what  it  is  once  for  all,  would  God’s 
presence  in  it  make  it  any  more  “living,”  any  richer 
in  our  sight? 

Candidly,  it  is  impossible  to  give  any  answer  to 
this  question.  The  actually  experienced  world  is 
supposed  to  be  the  same  in  its  details  on  either 
hypothesis,  “the  same,  for  our  praise  or  blame,”  as 
Browning  says.  It  stands  there  indefeasibly ; a gift 
which  can’t  be  taken  back.  Calling  matter  the  cause 
of  it  retracts  no  single  one  of  the  items  that  have 
made  it  up,  nor  does  calling  God  the  cause  augment 
them.  They  are  the  God  or  the  atoms,  respectively, 
of  just  that  and  no  other  world.  The  God,  if  there, 
has  been  doing  just  what  atoms  could  do — appear- 


416 


[1898]  PHILOSOPHICAL  conceptions 


ing  in  the  character  of  atoms,  so  to  speak — and 
earning  such  gratitude  as  is  due  to  atoms,  and  no 
more.  If  his  presence  lends  no  different  turn  or 
issue  to  the  performance,  it  surely  can  lend  it  no 
increase  of  dignity.  Nor  would  indignity  come  to 
it  were  he  absent,  and  did  the  atoms  remain  the  only 
actors  on  the  stage.  When  a play  is  once  over,  and 
the  curtain  down,  you  really  make  it  no  better  by 
claiming  an  illustrious  genius  for  its  author,  just  as 
you  make  it  no  worse  by  calling  him  a common 
hack. 

Thus  if  no  future  detail  of  experience  or  conduct  * 
is  to  be  deduced  from  our  hypothesis,  the  debate 
between  materialism  and  theism  becomes  quite  idle 
and  insignificant.  Matter  and  God  in  that  event 
mean  exactly  the  same  thing — the  power,  namely, 
neither  more  nor  less,  that  can  make  just  this  mixed, 
imperfect,  yet  completed  world — and  the  wise  man 
is  he  who  in  such  a case  would  turn  his  back  on  such 
a supererogatory  discussion.  Accordingly  most  men 
instinctively — and  a large  class  of  men,  the  so- 
called  positivists  or  scientists,  deliberately — do  turn 
their  backs  on  philosophical  disputes  from  which 
nothing  in  the  line  of  definite  future  consequences 
can  be  seen  to  follow.  The  verbal  and  empty  char- 
acter of  our  studies  is  surely  a reproach  with  which 
you  of  the  Philosophical  Union  are  but  too  sadly 
familiar.  An  escaped  Berkeley  student  said  to  me 
at  Harvard  the  other  day, — he  had  never  been 
in  the  philosophical  department  here, — “ Words, 
words,  words,  are  all  that  you  philosophers  care 


417 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  f1898l 


for.”  We  philosophers  think  it  all  unjust;  and  yet, 
if  the  principle  of  pragmatism  be  true,  it  is  a per- 
fectly sound  reproach  unless  the  metaphysical  alter- 
natives under  investigation  can  be  shown  to  have  al- 
ternative practical  outcomes,  however  delicate  and 
distant  these  may  be.  The  common  man  and  the 
scientist  can  discover  no  such  outcomes.  And  if  the 
metaphysician  can  discern  none  either,  the  common 
man  and  scientist  certainly  are  in  the  right  of  it,  as 
against  him.  His  science  is  then  but  pompous 
trifling;  and  the  endowment  of  a professorship  for 
such  a being  would  be  something  really  absurd. 

Accordingly,  in  every  genuine  metaphysical  de- 
bate some  practical  issue,  however  remote,  is  really 
involved.  To  realize  this,  revert  with  me  to  the 
question  of  materialism  or  theism ; and  place  your- 
selves this  time  in  the  real  Avorld  we  live  in,  the 
world  that  has  a future,  that  is  yet  uncompleted 
whilst  we  speak.  In  this  unfinished  world  the  al- 
ternative of  “materialism  or  theism?”  is  intensely 
practical ; and  it  is  worth  while  for  us  to  spend  some 
minutes  of  our  hour  in  seeing  how  truly  this  is  the 
case. 

How,  indeed,  does  the  programme  differ  for  us, 
according  as  we  consider  that  the  facts  of  experience 
up  to  date  are  purposeless  configurations  of  atoms 
moving  according  to  eternal  elementary  laws,  or 
that  on  the  other  hand  they  are  due  to  the  provi- 
dence of  God?  As  far  as  the  past  facts  go,  indeed 
there  is  no  difference.  These  facts  are  in,  are  bagged, 
are  captured ; and  the  good  that’s  in  them  is  gained, 


418 


[1898]  PHILOSOPHICAL  conceptions 


be  the  atoms  or  be  the  God  their  cause.  There  are 
accordingly  many  materialists  about  us  to-day  who, 
ignoring  altogether  the  future  and  practical  aspects 
of  the  question,  seek  to  eliminate  the  odium  attach- 
ing to  the  word  materialism,  and  even  to  eliminate 
the  wTord  itself,  by  showing  that,  if  matter  could 
give  birth  to  all  these  gains,  why  then  matter,  func- 
tionally considered,  is  just  as  divine  an  entity  as 
God,  in  fact  coalesces  with  God,  is  what  you  mean 
by  God.  Cease,  these  persons  advise  us,  to  use 
either  of  these  terms,  with  their  outgrown  opposi- 
tion. Use  terms  free  of  the  clerical  connotations  on 
the  one  hand ; of  the  suggestion  of  grossness, 
coarseness,  ignobility,  on  the  other.  Talk  of  the 
primal  mystery,  of  the  unknowable  energy,  of  the 
one  and  only  power,  instead  of  saying  either  God 
or  matter.  This  is  the  course  to  which  Mr.  Spencer 
urges  us  at  the  end  of  the  first  volume  of  his 
Psychology.  In  some  well-written  pages  he  there 
shows  us  that  a “matter”  so  infinitely  subtile,  and 
performing  motions  as  inconceivably  quick  and  fine 
as  modern  science  postulates  in  her  explanations, 
has  no  trace  of  grossness  left.  He  shows  that  the 
conception  of  spirit,  as  we  mortals  hitherto  have 
framed  it,  is  itself  too  gross  to  cover  the  exquisite 
complexity  of  Nature’s  facts.  Both  terms,  he  says, 
are  but  symbols,  pointing  to  that  one  unknowable 
reality  in  which  their  oppositions  cease. 

Throughout  these  remarks  of  Mr.  Spencer,  elo- 
quent, and  even  noble  in  a certain  sense,  as  they  are, 
he  seems  to  think  that  the  dislike  of  the  ordinary 


419 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0898] 


man  to  materialism  comes  from  a purely  sesthetic 
disdain  of  matter,  as  something  gross  in  itself,  and 
vile  and  despicable.  Undoubtedly  such  an  aesthetic 
disdain  of  matter  has  played  a part  in  philosophic 
history.  But  it  forms  no  part  whatever  of  an  intel- 
ligent modern  man’s  dislikes.  Give  him  a matter 
bound  forever  by  its  laws  to  lead  our  world  nearer 
and  nearer  to  perfection,  and  any  rational  man  will 
worship  that  matter  as  readily  as  Mr.  Spencer  wor- 
ships his  own  so-called  unknowable  power.  It  not 
only  has  made  for  righteousness  up  to  date,  but  it 
will  make  for  righteousness  forever ; and  that  is  all 
we  need.  Doing  practically  all  that  a God  can  do, 
it  is  equivalent  to  God,  its  function  is  a God’s  func- 
tion, and  in  a world  in  which  a God  would  be  super- 
fluous; from  such  a world  a God  could  never  law- 
fully be  missed. 

But  is  the  matter  by  which  Mr.  Spencer’s  process 
of  cosmic  evolution  is  carried  on  any  such  principle 
of  never-ending  perfection  as  this?  Indeed  it  is  not, 
for  the  future  end  of  every  cosmically  evolved  thing 
or  system  of  things  is  tragedy ; and  Mr.  Spencer,  in 
confining  himself  to  the  sesthetic  and  ignoring  the 
practical  side  of  the  controversy,  has  really  con- 
tributed nothing  serious  to  its  relief.  But  apply 
now  our  principle  of  practical  results,  and  see  what 
a vital  significance  the  question  of  materialism  or 
theism  immediately  acquires. 

Theism  and  materialism,  so  indifferent  when 
taken  retrospectively,  point  when  we  take  them 
prospectively  to  wholly  different  practical  conse- 


420 


[1898]  PHILOSOPHICAL  conceptions 


quences,  to  opposite  outlooks  of  experience.  For, 
according  to  the  theory  of  mechanical  evolution,  the 
laws  of  redistribution  of  matter  and  motion,  though 
they  are  certainly  to  thank  for  all  the  good  hours 
which  our  organisms  have  ever  yielded  us  and 
for  all  the  ideals  which  our  minds  now  frame, 
are  yet  fatally  certain  to  undo  their  work 
again,  and  to  redissolve  everything  that  they 
have  once  evolved.  You  all  know  the  picture 
of  the  last  foreseeable  state  of  the  dead  uni- 
verse, as  evolutionary  science  gives  it  forth.  I ^ 
cannot  state  it  better  than  in  Mr.  Balfour’s  words : 
“The  energies  of  our  system  will  decay,  the  glory  of 
the  sun  will  be  dimmed,  and  the  earth,  tideless  and 
inert,  will  no  longer  tolerate  the  race  which  has  for 
a moment  disturbed  its  solitude.  Man  will  go 
down  into  the  pit,  and  all  his  thoughts  will  perish. 
The  uneasy  consciousness  which  in  this  obscure 
corner  has  for  a brief  space  broken  the  contented 
silence  of  the  universe,  will  be  at  rest.  Matter  will 
know  itself  no  longer.  ‘Imperishable  monuments’ 
and  ‘immortal  deeds,’  death  itself,  and  love  stronger 
than  death,  will  be  as  if  they  had  not  been.  Nor 
will  anything  that  is,  be  better  or  worse  for  all  that 
the  labor,  genius,  devotion,  and  suffering  of  man 
have  striven  through  countless  ages  to  effect.”1 
That  is  the  sting  of  it,  that  in  the  vast  driftings  • 
of  the  cosmic  weather,  though  many  a jewelled 
shore  appears,  and  many  an  enchanted  cloud-bank 
floats  away,  long  lingering  ere  it  be  dissolved — even 

1 The  Foundations  of  Belief,  p.  30. 

421 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  118981 


as  our  world  now  lingers,  for  our  joy — yet  when 
these  transient  products  are  gone,  nothing,  abso- 
lutely nothing  remains,  to  represent  those  particu- 
lar qualities,  those  elements  of  preciousness  which 
they  may  have  enshrined.  Dead  and  gone  are  they, 
gone  utterly  from  the  very  sphere  and  room  of  being. 
Without  an  echo;  without  a memory;  without  an 
influence  on  aught  that  may  come  after,  to  make 
it  care  for  similar  ideals.  This  utter  final  wreck 
and  tragedy  is  of  the  essence  of  scientific  material- 
ism as  at  present  understood.  The  lower  and  not 
the  higher  forces  are  the  eternal  forces,  or  the  last 
surviving  forces  within  the  only  cycle  of  evolution 
which  we  can  definitely  see.  Mr.  Spencer  believes 
this  as  much  as  any  one;  so  why  should  he  argue 
with  us  as  if  we  were  making  silly  aesthetic  objec- 
tions to  the  “grossness”  of  “matter  and  motion,” — 
the  principles  of  his  philosophy, — when  what  really 
dismays  us  in  it  is  the  disconsolateness  of  its  ul- 
terior practical  results? 

No,  the  true  objection  to  materialism  is  not  posi- 
tive but  negative.  It  would  be  farcical  at  this  day 
to  make  complaint  of  it  for  what  it  is,  for  “gross- 
ness.” Grossness  is  what  grossness  doos — we  now 
know  that.  We  make  complaint  of  it,  on  the  con- 
trary, for  what  it  is  not — not  a permanent  warrant 
for  our  more  ideal  interests,  not  a fulfiller  of  our 
remotest  hopes. 

The  notion  of  God,  on  the  other  hand,  however 
inferior  it  may  be  in  clearness  to  those  mathematical 
notions  so  current  in  mechanical  philosophy,  has  at 


422 


[1898]  PHILOSOPHICAL  conceptions 


least  this  practical  superiority  over  them,  that  it 
guarantees  an  ideal  order  that  shall  be  permanently 
preserved.  A world  with  a God  in  it  to  say  the  last 
word,  may  indeed  burn  up  or  freeze,  but  we  then 
think  of  Him  as  still  mindful  of  the  old  ideals  and 
sure  to  bring  them  elsewhere  to  fruition;  so  that, 
where  He  is,  tragedy  is  only  provisional  and  partial, 
and  shipwreck  and  dissolution  not  the  absolutely 
final  things.  This  need  of  an  eternal  moral  order  is 
one  of  the  deepest  needs  of  our  breast.  And  those 
poets,  like  Dante  and  Wordsworth,  who  live  on  the 
conviction  of  such  an  order,  owe  to  that  fact  the 
extraordinary  tonic  and  consoling  power  of  their 
verse.  Here  then,  in  these  different  emotional  and 
practical  appeals,  in  these  adjustments  of  our  con- 
crete attitudes  of  hope  and  expectation,  and  all  the 
delicate  consequences  which  their  differences  entail, 
lie  the  real  meanings  of  materialism  and  theism — 
not  in  hair-splitting  abstractions  about  matter’s 
inner  essence,  or  about  the  metaphysical  attributes 
of  God.  Materialism  means  simply  the  denial  that 
the  moral  order  is  eternal,  and  the  cutting  off  of  ulti- 
mate hopes;  theism  means  the  affirmation  of  an 
eternal  moral  order  and  the  letting  loose  of  hope. 
Surely  here  is  an  issue  genuine  enough,  for  any  one 
who  feels  it;  and,  as  long  as  men  are  men,  it  will 
yield  matter  for  serious  philosophic  debate.  Con- 
cerning this  question,  at  any  rate,  the  positivists 
and  pooh-pooh-ers  of  metaphysics  are  in  the  wrong. 

But  possibly  some  of  you  may  still  rally  to  their 
defence.  Even  whilst  admitting  that  theism  and 


423 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  DSOS] 


materialism  make  different  prophecies  of  the  world’s 
future,  you  may  yourselves  pooh-pooh  the  difference 
as  something  so  infinitely  remote  as  to  mean  nothing 
for  a sane  mind.  The  essence  of  a sane  mind,  you 
may  say,  is  to  take  shorter  views,  and  to  feel  no 
concern  about  such  cliimseras  as  the  latter  end  of 
the  world.  Well,  I can  only  say  that  if  you  say 
this,  you  do  injustice  to  human  nature.  Religious 
melancholy  is  not  disposed  of  by  a simple  flourish  of 

• the  word  “insanity.”  The  absolute  things,  the  last 
things,  the  overlapping  things,  are  the  truly  philo- 
sophic concern;  all  superior  minds  feel  seriously 
about  them,  and  the  mind  with  the  shortest  views 
is  simply  the  mind  of  the  more  shallow  man. 

However,  I am  willing  to  pass  over  these  very 
distant  outlooks  on  the  ultimate,  if  any  of  you  so 
insist.  The  theistic  controversy  can  still  serve  to 
illustrate  the  principle  of  pragmatism  for  us  well 

• enough,  without  driving  us  so  far  afield.  If  there 
be  a God,  it  is  not  likely  that  he  is  confined  solely 
to  making  differences  in  the  world’s  latter  end;  he 
probably  makes  differences  all  along  its  course. 

' Now  the  principle  of  practicalism  says  that  the  very 
meaning  of  the  conception  of  God  lies  in  those  dif- 
ferences which  must  be  made  in  our  experience  if 

’ the  conception  be  true.  God’s  famous  inventory  of 
perfections,  as  elaborated  by  dogmatic  theology, 
either  means  nothing,  says  our  principle,  or  it  im- 
plies certain  definite  things  that  we  can  feel  and  do 
at  particular  moments  of  our  lives,  things  which  we 
could  not  feel  and  should  not  do  were  no  God  pres- 


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[1898]  PHILOSOPHICAL  conceptions 


ent  and  were  the  business  of  the  universe  carried 
on  by  material  atoms  instead.  So  far  as  our  con- 
ceptions of  the  Deity  involve  no  such  experiences,  so 
far  they  are  meaningless  and  verbal, — scholastic 
entities  and  abstractions,  as  the  positivists  say,  and 
fit  objects  for  their  scorn.  But  so  far  as  they  do 
involve  such  definite  experiences,  God  means  some- 
thing for  us,  and  may  be  real. 

Now  if  we  look  at  the  definitions  of  God  made  by 
dogmatic  theology,  we  see  immediately  that  some 
stand  and  some  fall  when  treated  by  this  test.  God, 
for  example,  as  any  orthodox  text-book  will  tell  us, 
is  a being  existing  not  only  per  se,  or  by  himself,  as 
created  beings  exist,  but  a se,  or  from  himself ; and 
out  of  this  “aseity”  flow  most  of  his  perfections.  He 
is,  for  example,  necessary;  absolute;  infinite  in  all 
respects ; and  single.  He  is  simple,  not  com- 
pounded of  essence  and  existence,  substance  and 
accident,  actuality  and  potentiality,  or  subject  and 
attributes,  as  are  other  things.  He  belongs  to  no 
genus ; he  is  inwardly  and  outwardly  unalterable ; he 
knows  and  wills  all  things,  and  first  of  all  his  own 
infinite  self,  in  one  indivisible  eternal  act.  And  he 
is  absolutely  self-sufficing,  and  infinitely  happy. 
Now  in  which  one  of  us  practical  Americans  here 
assembled  does  this  conglomeration  of  attributes 
awaken  any  sense  of  reality  ? And  if  in  no  one,  then 
why  not?  Surely  because  such  attributes  awaken 
no  responsive  active  feelings  and  call  for  no  par- 
ticular conduct  of  our  own.  How  does  God’s 
“aseity”  come  home  to  you?  What  specific  thing 

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COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1898] 


can  I do  to  adapt  myself  to  his  “simplicity”?  Or 
how  determine  our  behavior  henceforward  if  his 
“felicity”  is  anyhow  absolutely  complete?  In  the 
’50’s  and  ’60’s  Captain  Mayne  Reid  was  the  great 
writer  of  boys’  books  of  out-of-door  adventure.  He 
was  forever  extolling  the  hunters  and  field-observers 
of  living  animals’  habits,  and  keeping  up  a fire  of 
invective  against  the  “closet-naturalists,”  as  he 
called  them,  the  collectors  and  classifiers,  and  han- 
dlers of  skeletons  and  skins.  When  I was  a boy  I 
used  to  think  that  a closet-naturalist  must  be  the 
vilest  type  of  wretch  under  the  sun.  But  surely  the 
systematic  theologians  are  the  closet-naturalists  of 
the  Deity,  even  in  Captain  Mayne  Reid’s  sense. 
Their  orthodox  deduction  of  God’s  attributes  is 
nothing  but  a shuffling  and  matching  of  pedantic 
dictionary-adjectives,  aloof  from  morals,  aloof  from 
human  needs,  something  that  might  be  worked  out 
from  the  mere  word  “God”  by  a logical  machine  of 
wood  and  brass  as  well  as  by  a man  of  flesh  and 
blood.  The  attributes  which  I have  quoted  have 
absolutely  nothing  to  do  with  religion,  for  religion 
is  a living  practical  affair.  Other  parts,  indeed,  of 
God’s  traditional  description  do  have  practical  con- 
nection with  life,  and  have  owed  all  their  historic 
importance  to  that  fact.  His  omniscience,  for 
example,  and  his  justice.  With  the  one  he  sees  us 
in  the  dark,  with  the  other  he  rewards  and  punishes 
what  he  sees.  So  do  his  ubiquity  and  eternity  and 
unalterability  appeal  to  our  confidence,  and  his 
goodness  banish  our  fears.  Even  attributes  of  less 


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[1898]  PHILOSOPHICAL  conceptions 


meaning  to  this  present  audience  have  in  past  times 
so  appealed.  One  of  the  chief  attributes  of  God, 
according  to  the  orthodox  theology,  is  his  infinite 
love  of  himself,  proved  by  asking  the  question,  “By 
what  but  an  infinite  object  can  an  infinite  affection 
be  appeased?”  An  immediate  consequence  of  this 
primary  self-love  of  God  is  the  orthodox  dogma  that 
the  manifestation  of  his  own  glory  is  God’s  primal 
purpose  in  creation;  and  that  dogma  has  certainly 
made  very  efficient  practical  connection  with  life. 
It  is  true  that  we  ourselves  are  tending  to  outgrow 
this  old  monarchical  conception  of  a Deity  with  his 
“court”  and  pomp — “his  state  is  kingly,  thousands 
at  his  bidding  speed,”  etc. — but  there  is  no  denying 
the  enormous  influence  it  has  had  over  ecclesiastical 
history,  nor,  by  repercussion,  over  the  history  of 
European  states.  And  yet  even  these  more  real  and 
significant  attributes  have  the  trail  of  the  serpent 
over  them  as  the  books  on  theology  have  actually 
worked  them  out.  One  feels  that,  in  the  theolo- 
gians’ hands,  they  are  only  a set  of  dictionary- 
adjectives,  mechanically  deduced ; logic  has  stepped 
into  the  place  of  vision,  professionalism  into  that  of 
life.  Instead  of  bread  we  get  a stone;  instead  of 
a fish,  a serpent.  Did  such  a conglomeration  of  ab- 
stract general  terms  give  really  the  gist  of  our 
knowledge  of  the  Deity,  divinity-schools  might  in- 
deed continue  to  flourish,  but  religion,  vital  religion, 
would  have  taken  its  flight  from  this  world.  What 
keeps  religion  going  is  something  else  than  abstract 
definitions  and  systems  of  logically  concatenated 


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COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  G898l 


adjectives,  and  something  different  from  faculties 
of  theology  and  their  professors.  All  these  things 
are  after-effects,  secondary  accretions  upon  a mass 
of  concrete  religious  experiences,  connecting  them- 
selves with  feeling  and  conduct  that  renew  them- 
selves in  scecula  sceculorum  in  the  lives  of  humble 
private  men.  If  yon  ask  what  these  experiences  are, 
they  are  conversations  with  the  unseen,  voices  and 
visions,  responses  to  prayer,  changes  of  heart,  deliv- 
erances from  fear,  inflowings  of  help,  assurances  of 
support,  whenever  certain  persons  set  their  own 
internal  attitude  in  certain  appropriate  ways.  The 
power  comes  and  goes  and  is  lost,  and  can  be  found 
only  in  a certain  definite  direction,  just  as  if  it  were 
a concrete  material  thing.  These  direct  experiences 
of  a wider  spiritual  life  with  which  our  superficial 
consciousness  is  continuous,  and  with  which  it  keeps 
up  an  intense  commerce,  form  the  primary  mass  of 
direct  religious  experience  on  which  all  hearsay 
religion  rests,  and  which  furnishes  that  notion  of 
an  ever-present  God,  out  of  which  systematic  theol- 
ogy thereupon  proceeds  to  make  capital  in  its  own 
unreal  pedantic  way.  What  the  word  “God” 
means  is  just  those  passive  and  active  experiences 
of  your  life.  Now,  my  friends,  it  is  quite  imma- 
terial to  my  purpose  whether  you  yourselves  enjoy 
and  venerate  these  experiences,  or  whether  you 
stand  aloof  and,  viewing  them  in  others,  suspect 
• them  of  being  illusory  and  vain.  Like  all  other 
human  experiences,  they  too  certainly  share  in  the 
general  liability  to  illusion  and  mistake.  They 


428 


[1898]  PHILOSOPHICAL  conceptions 


need  not  be  infallible.  But  they  are  certainly  the 
originals  of  the  God-idea,  and  theology  is  the  trans- 
lation ; and  you  remember  that  I am  now  using  the 
God-idea  merely  as  an  example,  not  to  discuss  as  to 
its  truth  or  error,  but  only  to  show  how  well  the 
principle  of  pragmatism  works.  That  the  God  of 
systematic  theology  should  exist  or  not  exist  is  a 
matter  of  small  practical  moment.  At  most  it 
means  that  you  may  continue  uttering  certain  ab- 
stract words  and  that  you  must  stop  using  others. 
But  if  the  God  of  these  particular  experiences  be 
false,  it  is  an  awful  thing  for  you,  if  you  are  one  of 
those  whose  lives  are  stayed  on  such  experiences. 
The  theistic  controversy,  trivial  enough  if  we  take 
it  merely  academically  and  theologically,  is  of  tre- 
mendous significance  if  we  test  it  by  its  results  for 
actual  life. 

I can  best  continue  to  recommend  the  principle  of 
practicalism  to  you  by  keeping  in  the  neighborhood 
of  this  theological  idea.  I reminded  you  a few 
minutes  ago  that  the  old  monarchical  notion  of  the 
Deity  as  a sort  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth  of  the 
Heavens  is  losing  nowadays  much  of  its  ancient 
prestige.  Religious  philosophy,  like  all  philosophy, 
is  growing  more  and  more  idealistic.  And  in  the 
philosophy  of  the  Absolute,  so  called,  that  post- 
Kantian  form  of  idealism  which  is  carrying  so  many 
of  our  higher  minds  before  it,  we  have  the  triumph 
of  what  in  old  times  was  summarily  disposed  of  as 
the  pantheistic  heresy,— I mean  the  conception  of 
God,  not  as  the  extraneous  creator,  but  as  the  in- 


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COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0898] 


dwelling  spirit  and  substance  of  the  world.  I know 
not  where  one  can  find  a more  candid,  more  clear, 
or,  on  the  whole,  more  persuasive  statement  of  this 
theology  of  Absolute  Idealism  than  in  the  addresses 
made  before  this  very  Union  three  years  ago  by  your 
own  great  Californian  philosopher  (whose  colleague 
at  Harvard  I am  proud  to  be),  Josiali  Royce.  His 
contributions  to  the  resulting  volume,  The  Concep- 
tion of  God,  form  a very  masterpiece  of  populariza- 
tion. Now  you  will  remember,  many  of  you,  that 
in  the  discussion  that  followed  Professor  Royce’s 
first  address,  the  debate  turned  largely  on  the  ideas 
of  unity  and  plurality,  and  on  the  question  whether, 
if  God  be  One  in  All  and  All  in  All,  “One  with  the 
unity  of  a single  instant,”  as  Royce  calls  it,  “form- 
ing in  His  wholeness  one  luminously  transparent 
moment,”  any  room  is  left  for  real  morality  or  free- 
dom. Professor  Howison,  in  particular,  was  earnest 
in  urging  that  morality  and  freedom  are  relations 
between  a manifold  of  selves,  and  that  under  the 
regime  of  Royce’s  monistic  Absolute  Thought  “no 
true  manifold  of  selves  is  or  can  be  provided  for.” 
I will  not  go  into  any  of  the  details  of  that  particu- 
lar discussion,  but  just  ask  you  to  consider  for  a 
moment  whether,  in  general,  any  discussion  about 
monism  or  pluralism,  any  argument  over  the  unity  of 
the  universe,  would  not  necessarily  be  brought  into 
a shape  where  it  tends  to  straighten  itself  out,  by 
bringing  our  principle  of  practical  results  to  bear. 

The  question  whether  the  world  is  at  bottom  One 
or  Many  is  a typical  metaphysical  question.  Long 


430 


[1898]  PHILOSOPHICAL  conceptions 


has  it  raged ! In  its  crudest  form  it  is  an  exquisite 
example  of  the  loggerheads  of  metaphysics.  “I  say 
it  is  one  great  fact,”  Parmenides  and  Spinoza  ex- 
claim. “I  say  it  is  many  little  facts,”  reply  the 
atomists  and  associationists.  “I  say  it  is  both  one 
and  many,  many  in  one,”  say  the  Hegelians ; and  in 
the  ordinary  popular  discussions  we  rarely  get  be- 
yond this  barren  reiteration  by  the  disputants  of 
their  pet  adjectives  of  number.  But  is  it  not  first 
of  all  clear  that  when  we  take  such  an  adjective  as 
“One”  absolutely  and  abstractly,  its  meaning  is  so 
vague  and  empty  that  it  makes  no  difference  whether 
we  affirm  or  deny  it?  Certainly  this  universe  is 
not  the  mere  number  One ; and  yet  you  can  number 
it  “one,”  if  you  like,  in  talking  about  it  as  contrasted 
with  other  possible  worlds  numbered  “two”  and 
“three”  for  the  occasion.  What  exact  thing  do  you 
practically  mean  by  “One,”  when  you  call  the  uni- 
verse One,  is  the  first  question  you  must  ask.  In 
what  ways  does  the  oneness  come  home  to  your  own 
personal  life?  By  what  difference  does  it  express 
itself  in  your  experience?  How  can  you  act  dif- 
ferently towards  a universe  which  is  one?  Inquired 
into  in  this  way,  the  unity  might  grow  clear  and  be 
affirmed  in  some  ways  and  denied  in  others,  and  so 
cleared  up,  even  though  a certain  vague  and  wor- 
shipful portentousness  might  disappear  from  the 
notion  of  it  in  the  process. 

For  instance,  one  practical  result  that  follows 
when  we  have  one  thing  to  handle,  is  that  we  can 
pass  from  one  part  of  it  to  another  without  letting 


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COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0898] 


go  of  the  thing.  In  this  sense  oneness  must  be 
partly  denied  and  partly  affirmed  of  our  universe. 
Physically  we  can  pass  continuously  in  various  man- 
ners from  one  part  of  it  to  another  part.  But  log- 
ically and  psychically  the  passage  seems  less  easy, 
for  there  is  no  obvious  transition  from  one  mind  to 
another,  or  from  minds  to  physical  things.  You 
have  to  step  off  and  get  on  again;  so  that  in  these 
ways  the  world  is  not  one,  as  measured  by  that  prac- 
tical test. 

Another  practical  meaning  of  oneness  is  suscep- 
tibility of  collection.  A collection  is  one,  though  the 
things  that  compose  it  be  many.  Now,  can  we 
practically  “collect”  the  universe?  Physically,  of 
course  we  cannot.  And  mentally  we  cannot,  if  we 
take  it  concretely  in  its  details.  But  if  we  take  it 
summarily  and  abstractly,  then  we  collect  it  men- 
tally whenever  we  refer  to  it,  even  as  I do  now  when 
I fling  the  term  “universe”  at  it,  and  so  seem  to 
leave  a mental  ring  around  it.  It  is  plain,  how- 
ever, that  such  abstract  noetic  unity  (as  one  might 
call  it)  is  practically  an  extremely  insignificant 
thing. 

Again,  oneness  may  mean  generic  sameness,  so 
that  you  can  treat  all  parts  of  the  collection  by  one 
rule  and  get  the  same  results.  It  is  evident  that 
in  this  sense  the  oneness  of  our  world  is  incomplete, 
for  in  spite  of  much  generic  sameness  in  its  elements 
and  items,  they  still  remain  of  many  irreducible 
kinds.  You  can’t  pass  by  mere  logic  all  over  the 
field  of  it. 


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[1898]  PHILOSOPHICAL  conceptions 


Its  elements  have,  however,  an  affinity  or  com- 
mensurability  with  each  other,  are  not  wholly  irrele- 
vant, but  can  be  compared,  and  fit  together  after 
certain  fashions.  This  again  might  practically 
mean  that  they  were  one  in  origin,  and  that,  trac- 
ing them  backwards,  we  should  find  them  arising 
in  a single  primal  causal  fact.  Such  unity  of  origin 
would  have  definite  practical  consequences,  would 
have  them  for  our  scientific  life  at  least. 

I can  give  only  these  hasty  superficial  indications 
of  what  I mean  when  I say  that  it  tends  to  clear 
up  the  quarrel  between  monism  and  pluralism  to 
subject  the  notion  of  unity  to  such  practical  tests. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  does  but  perpetuate  strife  and 
misunderstanding  to  continue  talking  of  it  in  an  ab- 
solute and  mystical  way.  I have  little  doubt  my- 
self that  this  old  quarrel  might  be  completely 
smoothed  out  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  claimants, 
if  only  the  maxim  of  Peirce  were  methodically  fol- 
lowed here.  The  current  monism  on  the  whole  still 
keeps  talking  in  too  abstract  a way.  It  says  the 
world  must  be  either  pure  disconnectedness,  no 
universe  at  all,  or  absolute  unity.  It  insists  that 
there  is  no  stopping-place  half  way.  Any  connec- 
tion whatever,  says  this  monism,  is  only  possible 
if  there  be  still  more  connection,  until  at  last  we  are 
driven  to  admit  the  absolutely  total  connection  re- 
quired. But  this  absolutely  total  connection  either 
means  nothing,  is  the  mere  word  “one”  spelt  long ; or 
else  it  means  the  sum  of  all  the  partial  connections 
that  can  possibly  be  conceived.  I believe  that  when 


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COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0898] 


we  thus  attack  the  question,  and  set  ourselves  to 
search  for  these  possible  connections,  and  conceive 
each  in  a definite  practical  way,  the  dispute  is 
already  in  a fair  way  to  be  settled  beyond  the 
chance  of  misunderstanding,  by  a compromise  in 
which  the  Many  and  the  One  both  get  their  lawful 
rights. 

But  I am  in  danger  of  becoming  technical;  so  I 
must  stop  right  here,  and  let  you  go. 

I am  happy  to  say  that  it  is  the  English-speaking 
philosophers  who  first  introduced  the  custom  of  in- 
terpreting the  meaning  of  conceptions  by  asking 
what  difference  they  make  for  life.  Mr.  Peirce  has 
only  expressed  in  the  form  of  an  explicit  maxim 
what  their  sense  for  reality  led  them  all  instinc- 
tively to  do.  The  great  English  way  of  investigat- 
ing a conception  is  to  ask  yourself  right  off,  “What 
is  it  known  as?  In  what  facts  does  it  result? 
What  is  its  cash-value , in  terms  of  particular  ex- 
perience? and  what  special  difference  would  come 
into  the  world  according  as  it  were  true  or  false?” 
Thus  does  Locke  treat  the  conception  of  personal 
identity.  What  you  mean  by  it  is  just  your  chain 
of  memories,  says  he.  That  is  the  only  concretely 
verifiable  part  of  its  significance.  All  further  ideas 
about  it,  such  as  the  oneness  or  manyness  of  the 
spiritual  substance  on  which  it  is  based,  are  there- 
fore void  of  intelligible  meaning;  and  propositions 
touching  such  ideas  may  be  indifferently  affirmed 
or  denied.  So  Berkeley  with  his  “matter.”  The 
cash-value  of  matter  is  our  physical  sensations. 


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[1898]  PHILOSOPHICAL  conceptions 


That  is  what  it  is  known  as,  all  that  we  concretely 
verify  of  its  conception.  That  therefore  is  the 
whole  meaning  of  the  word  “matter” — any  other 
pretended  meaning  is  mere  wind  of  words.  Hume 
does  the  same  thing  with  causation.  It  is  known 
as  habitual  antecedence,  and  tendency  on  our  part 
to  look  for  something  definite  to  come.  Apart  from 
this  practical  meaning  it  has  no  significance  what- 
ever, and  books  about  it  may  be  committed  to  the 
flames,  says  Hume.  Stewart  and  Brown,  James 
Mill,  John  Mill,  and  Bain,  have  followed  more  or 
less  consistently  the  same  method;  and  Shadworth 
Hodgson  has  used  it  almost  as  explicitly  as  Mr. 
Peirce.  These  writers  have  many  of  them  no  doubt 
been  too  sweeping  in  their  negations ; Hume,  in  par- 
ticular, and  James  Mill,  and  Bain.  But  when  all  is 
said  and  done,  it  was  they,  not  Kant,  who  intro- 
duced “the  critical  method”  into  philosophy,  the 
one  method  fitted  to  make  philosophy  a study 
worthy  of  serious  men.  For  what  seriousness  can 
possibly  remain  in  debating  philosophic  proposi- 
tions that  will  never  make  an  appreciable  difference 
to  us  in  action?  And  what  matters  it,  when  all 
propositions  are  practically  meaningless,  which  of 
them  be  called  true  or  false? 

The  shortcomings  and  the  negations  and  bald- 
nesses of  the  English  philosophers  in  question  come, 
not  from  their  eye  to  merely  practical  results,  but 
solely  from  their  failure  to  track  the  practical  re- 
sults completely  enough  to  see  how  far  they  extend. 
Hume  can  be  corrected  and  built  out,  and  his  beliefs 


435 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  KE VIEWS  0898] 


enriched,  by  using  Humian  principles  exclusively, 
and  without  making  any  use  of  the  circuitous  and 
ponderous  artificialities  of  Kant.  It  is  indeed  a some- 
what pathetic  matter,  as  it  seems  to  me,  that  this  is 
not  the  course  which  the  actual  history  of  phil- 
osophy has  followed.  Hume  had  no  English  suc- 
cessors of  adequate  ability  to  complete  him  and  cor- 
rect his  negations;  so  it  happened,  as  a matter  of 
fact,  that  the  building  out  of  critical  philosophy  has 
mainly  been  left  to  thinkers  who  were  under  the 
influence  of  Kant.  Even  in  England  and  this  coun- 
try it  is  with  Kantian  catch-words  and  categories 
that  the  fuller  view  of  life  is  pursued,  and  in  our 
universities  it  is  the  courses  in  transcendentalism 
that  kindle  the  enthusiasm  of  the  more  ardent 
students,  whilst  the  courses  in  English  philosophy 
are  committed  to  a secondary  place.  I cannot  think 
that  this  is  exactly  as  it  should  be.  And  I say  this 
not  out  of  national  jingoism,  for  jingoism  has  no 
place  in  philosophy;  or  out  of  excitement  over  the 
great  Anglo-American  alliance  against  the  world, 
of  which  we  nowadays  hear  so  much — though 
heaven  knows  that  to  that  alliance  I wish  a God- 
speed. I say  it  because  I sincerely  believe  that  the 
English  spirit  in  philosophy  is  intellectually,  as 
well  as  practically  and  morally,  on  the  saner, 
sounder,  and  truer  path.  Kant’s  mind  is  the  rarest 
and  most  intricate  of  all  possible  antique  bric-h-brac 
museums,  and  connoisseurs  and  dilettanti  will  al- 
ways wish  to  visit  it  and  see  the  wondrous  and  racy 
contents.  The  temper  of  the  dear  old  man  about  his 


436 


[1898]  PHILOSOPHICAL  conceptions 


work  is  perfectly  delectable.  And  yet  be  is  really — 
although  I shrink  with  some  terror  from  saying 
such  a thing  before  some  of  you  here  present — at 
bottom  a mere  curio,  a “specimen.”  I mean  by  this 
a perfectly  definite  thing:  I believe  that  Kant  be- 
queaths to  us  not  one  single  conception  which  is 
both  indispensable  to  philosophy  and  which  phil- 
osophy either  did  not  possess  before  him,  or  was  not 
destined  inevitably  to  acquire  after  him  through 
the  growth  of  men's  reflection  upon  the  hypotheses 
by  which  science  interprets  nature.  The  true  line 
of  philosophic  progress  lies,  in  short,  it  seems  to  me, 
not  so  much  through  Kant  as  round  him  to  the  point 
where  now  we  stand.  Philosophy  can  perfectly  well 
outflank  him,  and  build  herself  up  into  adequate 
fulness  by  prolonging  more  directly  the  older  Eng- 
lish lines. 

May  I hope,  as  I now  conclude,  and  release  your 
attention  from  the  strain  to  which  you  have  so 
kindly  put  it  on  my  behalf,  that  on  this  wonderful 
Pacific  Coast,  of  which  our  race  is  taking  posses- 
sion, the  principle  of  practicalism,  in  which  I have 
tried  so  hard  to  interest  you,  and  with  it  the  whole 
English  tradition  in  philosophy,  will  come  to  its 
rights,  and  in  your  hands  help  the  rest  of  us  in  our 
struggle  towards  the  light. 


437 


XXIX 


HODGSON’S  “OBSERVATIONS  OF 
TRANCE”1 

[1898] 

If  I may  be  allowed  a personal  expression  of 
opinion  at  the  end  of  this  notice,  I would  say  that 
the  Piper  phenomena  are  the  most  absolutely  baffling 
thing  I know.  Of  the  various  applicable  hypotheses, 
each  seems  more  unnatural  than  the  rest.  Any 
definitely  known  form  of  fraud  seems  out  of  the 
question;  yet  undoubtedly,  could  it  be  made  prob- 
able, fraud  would  be  by  far  the  most  satisfying  ex- 
planation, since  it  would  leave  no  further  problems 
outstanding.  The  spirit-hypothesis  exhibits  a va- 

P Closing  paragraphs  reprinted  from  a review  of  R.  Hodg- 
son’s A Further  Record  of  Observations  of  Certain  Phenomena  of 
Trance,  Psychological  Review,  1898,  5, 420^424.  This  selection  and 
the  one  reprinted  below  (p.  484)  represent  James’s  most  mature 
views  of  mediumistic  phenomena,  with  special  reference  to  the 
case  of  Mrs.  Piper.  A popular  presentation  of  these  views  may 
be  found  in  “Confidences  of  a Psychical  Researcher,”  reprinted 
in  Memories  and  Studies  (1911).  The  author’s  earlier  views  can 
be  traced  through  the  following  articles  and  reviews:  (1)  “Re- 
port of  the  Committee  on  Mediumistic  Phenomena,”  Proceed- 
ings of  the  American  Society  for  Psychical  Research,  1886,  1, 
102-106,  containing  a report  on  “Mrs.  P.,”  and  a statement  of 
the  writer’s  belief  that  the  general  low  level  of  mediumistic 
evidence  requires  the  very  careful  study  of  special  test  cases ; 
(2)  “A  Record  of  Observations  of  Certain  Phenomena  of 


438 


[1898]  HODGSON’S  “OBSERVATIONS” 


cancy,  triviality  and  incoherence  of  mind  painful  to 
think  of  as  the  state  of  the  departed;  and  coupled 
therewithal  a pretension  to  impress  one,  a disposi- 
tion to  “fish”  and  face  round,  and  disguise  the  es- 
sential hollowness,  which  are,  if  anything,  more 
painful  still.  Mr.  Hodgson  has  to  resort  to  the 
theory  that,  although  the  communicants  probably 
are  spirits,  they  are  in  a semi-comatose  or  sleeping 
state  while  communicating,  and  only  half  aware  of 
what  is  going  on,  while  the  habits  of  Mrs.  Piper’s 
neural  organism  largely  supply  the  definite  form  of 
words,  etc.,  in  which  the  phenomenon  is  clothed. 
Then  there  is  the  theory  that  the  “subliminal”  ex- 
tension of  Mrs.  Piper’s  own  mind  masquerades  in 
this  way,  and  plays  these  fantastic  tricks  before 
high  heaven,  using  its  preternatural  powers  of  cog- 
nition and  memory  for  the  basest  of  deceits.  Many 
details  make  for  this  view,  which  also  falls  well  into 
line  with  what  we  know  of  automatic  writing  and 

Trance,”  Part  III.,  Proceedings  of  the  [English],  Society  for 
Psychical  Research,  1890,  6,  651-659,  containing  story  of  the 
author’s  experiences  with  Mrs.  Piper  since  his  first  acquain- 
tance with  her  in  1885,  expressing  belief  that  her  trance  knowl- 
edge exceeds  her  waking  knowledge,  but  offering  no  explana- 
tion; (8)  “Address  of  the  President,”  Proceedings  of  the  [Eng- 
lish] Society  for  Psychical  Research,  1896,  12,  2-10,  reprinted  in 
part  in  Will  to  Believe  (1907),  pp.  317-320,  323-327,  asserting 
author's  belief  that  the  Piper  case  is  decisive  against  the  ortho- 
dox psychology;  (4)  “Psychical  Research,”  Psychological  Re- 
view, 1896,  3,  649-652 ; (5)  “Mrs.  Piper  ‘The  Medium,’  ” Science, 
1898,  N.S.  7,  640-641,  containing  controversy  with  Prof.  J.  McK. 
Cattell  on  the  evidential  value  of  the  Piper  case.  For  the  many 
additional  titles  relating  to  psychical  research  in  the  broad 
sense,  the  reader  should  consult  The  Annotated  Bibliography 
of  the  Writings  of  William  James  (1920).  Ed.] 


439 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0898] 


similar  subliminal  performances  in  the  public  at 
large.  But  what  a ghastly  and  grotesque  sort  of 
appendage  to  one’s  personality  is  this,  from  any 
point  of  view : the  humbugging  and  masquerading 
extra-marginal  self  is  as  great  a paradox  for  psy- 
chology as  the  comatose  spirits  are  for  pneumatol- 
ogy.  Finally,  we  may  fall  back  on  the  notion  of  a 
sort  of  floating  mind-stuff  in  the  world,  infrahuman, 
yet  possessed  of  fragmentary  gleams  of  superhuman 
cognition,  unable  to  gather  itself  together  except  by 
taking  advantage  of  the  trance  states  of  some  exist- 
ing human  organism,  and  there  enjoying  a parasitic 
existence  which  it  prolongs  by  making  itself  accept- 
able and  plausible  under  the  improvised  name  of 
“spirit  control.”  On  any  of  these  theories  our 
“classic”  human  life,  as  we  may  call  it,  seems  to  con- 
nect itself  with  an  environment  so  “romantic”  as 
to  baffle  all  one’s  habitual  sense  of  teleology  and 
moral  meaning.  And  yet  there  seems  no  refuge  for 
one  really  familiar  with  the  Piper  phenomenon  (or, 
doubtless,  with  others  that  are  similar)  from  admit- 
ting one  or  other,  perhaps  even  all  of  these  fantastic 
prolongations  of  mental  life  into  the  unknown. 

The  world  is  evidently  more  complex  than  we  are 
accustomed  to  think  it,  the  “absolute  world-ground,” 
in  particular,  being  farther  off  (as  Mr.  F.  C.  S. 
Schiller  has  well  pointed  out)  than  it  is  the  wont 
either  of  the  usual  empiricisms  or  of  the  usual  ideal- 
isms to  think  it.  This  being  the  case,  the  “scien- 
tific” sort  of  procedure  is  evidently  Mr.  Hodgson’s, 
with  his  dogged  and  candid  exploration  of  all  the 


440 


[1898]  HODGSON’S  “OBSERVATIONS” 


details  of  so  exceptional  a concrete  instance;  and 
not  that  of  the  critics  who,  refusing  to  come  to  any 
close  quarters  with  the  facts,  survey  them  at  long 
range  and  summarily  dispose  of  them  at  a conven- 
ient distance  by  the  abstract  name  of  fraud. 


441 


XXX 


“PERSONAL  IDEALISM”  1 

[1903] 

...  I call  [this]  book  refreshing,  first,  because 
“band- work,”  always  a cheerful  sight,  is  peculiarly 
so  in  a field  like  that  of  philosophy  where  men  are 
usually  more  given  to  stickling  for  their  differences 
than  for  their  points  of  union;  second,  because  the 
style  of  most  of  the  essayists  is  unconventional  and 
enthusiastic — sometimes  frolicsome  even ; and  finally 
because  the  philosophy  which  the  writers  profess  is 
a sort  of  breaking  of  the  ice,  and  seems  to  promise  a 
new  channel  where  formerly  the  only  pathways 
were  Naturalism’s  desert  on  the  one  hand,  and  the 
barren  summits  of  the  Absolute  on  the  other.  Here 
we  have  Naturalism’s  concreteness  without  its  low- 
ness, and  Absolutism’s  elevation  without  its  ab- 
stractness, for  human  purposes,  of  result.  The 
human  person,  according  to  these  writers,  shows 
itself,  if  we  take  it  completely  and  empirically 
enough,  to  be  a force  irreducible  to  lower  terms,  and 

t1  Reprinted  with  omissions  from  Mind,  1903,  N.S.  12,  93-97. 
Review  of  Personal  Idealism:  Philosophical  Essays  by  Eight 
Members  of  the  University  of  Oxford,  edited  by  Henry  Sturt, 
1902.  The  authors  were  F.  C.  S.  Schiller,  G.  F.  Stout,  W.  R. 
Boyce  Gibson,  G.  E.  Underhill,  R.  R.  Marett,  H.  Sturt,  F.  W. 
Bussell,  and  Hastings  Rashdall.  On  same  topic  see  below,  p. 
450.  Ed.] 


442 


[1903] 


“PERSONAL  IDEALISM’’ 


an  origin  both  of  theoretic  perspectives  and  of  con- 
sequences in  the  way  of  outward  fact. 

A re-anthropomorphised  Universe  is  the  general 
outcome  of  this  philosophy,  which  on  the  whole 
continues  Lotze,  Sigwart,  and  Renouvier’s  line  of 
thinking,  although  it  is  so  much  more  radically  ex- 
periential in  tone.  Being  so  experiential,  it  has  to 
be  unacademic,  informal,  and  fragmentary;  and 
this,  from  the  point  of  view  of  making  converts,  is  a 
bad  practical  defect.  What  we  need  now  in  Eng- 
lish, it  seems  to  me,  is  a more  commanding  and  all- 
round statement  in  classic  style  and  generalised 
terms  of  the  personal  idealism  which  these  authors 
represent.  Mr.  Schiller  might  compass  it,  if  he 
would  tone  down  a little  the  exuberance  of  his 
polemic  wit — meanwhile  we  have  these  trial  bricks, 
set  in  at  separate  points. 


I add  no  criticism — although  I think  that  every 
essay  calls  for  some  objection  of  detail — because  I 
think  that  the  important  thing  to  recognise  is  that 
we  have  here  a distinct  new  departure  in  contem- 
porary thought,  the  combination,  namely,  of  a teleo- 
logical and  spiritual  inspiration  with  the  same  kind 
of  conviction  that  the  particulars  of  experience  con- 
stitute the  stronghold  of  reality  as  has  usually 
characterised  the  materialistic  type  of  mind.  If 
empiricism  is  to  be  radical  it  must  indeed  admit 
the  concrete  data  of  experience  in  their  full  com- 
pleteness. The  only  fully  complete  concrete  data 


443 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  tiMB] 


are,  however,  the  successive  moments  of  our  own 
several  histories,  taken  with  their  subjective  per- 
sonal aspect,  as  well  as  with  their  “objective”  deliv- 
erance or  “content.”  After  the  analogy  of  these 
moments  of  experiences  must  all  complete  reality 
be  conceived.  Radical  empiricism  thus  leads  to  the 
assumption  of  a collectivism  of  personal  lives 
(which  may  be  of  any  grade  of  complication,  and 
superhuman  or  infrahuman  as  well  as  human) , vari- 
ously cognitive  of  each  other,  variously  conative  and 
impulsive,  genuinely  evolving  and  changing  by 
effort  and  trial,  and  by  their  interaction  and  cumu- 
lative achievements  making  up  the  world.  Be- 
ginnings of  a sincere  Empirical  Evolutionism  like 
this  have  been  made  already — I need  only  point  to 
Fechner,  Lotze,  Paulsen,  C.  S.  Peirce  (in  the 
Honist),  and  to  a certain  extent  to  Wundt  and 
Royce.  But  most  of  these  authors  spoil  the  scheme 
entirely  by  the  arbitrary  way  in  which  they  clap 
on  to  it  an  absolute  monism  with  which  it  has  noth- 
ing to  do.  Mr.  Schiller,  in  his  Riddles  of  the 
Sphinx,  and  more  acutely  still  in  various  essays,  has 
given  to  it  a more  consistent  form.  It  is  to  be  hoped 
that  the  publication  of  the  present  volume  will 
give  it  a more  mature  self-consciousness,  and  that 
a systematic  all-round  statement  of  it  may  erelong 
appear.  I know  of  no  more  urgent  philosophic 
desideratum  at  the  present  day. 


444 


XXXI 


THE  CHICAGO  SCHOOL1 

[1904] 

The  rest  of  the  world  has  made  merry  over  the  Chi- 
cago man’s  legendary  saying  that  “Chicago  hasn’t 
had  time  to  get  round  to  culture  yet,  hut  when  she 
does  strike  her,  she’ll  make  her  hum.”  Already  the 
prophecy  is  fulfilling  itself  in  a dazzling  manner. 
Chicago  has  a School  of  Thought! — a school  of 
thought  which,  it  is  safe  to  predict,  will  figure  in 
literature  as  the  School  of  Chicago  for  twenty-five 
years  to  come.  Some  universities  have  plenty  of 
thought  to  show,  but  no  school;  others  plenty  of 
school,  but  no  thought.  The  University  of  Chicago, 
by  its  Decennial  Publications,  shows  real  thought 
and  a real  school.  Prof.  John  Dewey,  and  at  least 
ten  of  his  disciples,  have  collectively  put  into  the 
world  a statement,  homogeneous  in  spite  of  so  many 

ll.  Studies  in  Logical  Theory,  John  Dewey,  with  the  co- 
operation of  members  and  fellows  of  the  Department  of  Philos- 
ophy. The  Decennial  Publications,  Second  Series,  Volume  XI., 
Chicago.  The  University  of  Chicago  Press,  1903.  2.  The  Defi- 
nition of  the  Psychical,  George  H.  Mead.  3.  Existence,  Meaning 
and  Reality,  A.  W.  Moore.  4.  Logical  Conditions  of  a Scientific 
Treatment  of  Morality,  John  Dewey.  5.  The  Relations  of 
Structural  and  Functional  Psychology  to  Philosophy,  James 
Rowland  Angell.  Reprints  from  Volume  III.  of  the  first  series 
of  Decennial  Publications,  ibid.,  1903.  [Review  reprinted  with 
omissions  from  Psychological  Bulletin,  1904,  1,  1-5.  Ed.] 


445 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  O904] 


co-operating  minds,  of  a view  of  the  world,  both 
theoretical  and  practical,  which  is  so  simple,  mas- 
sive, and  positive  that,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  many 
parts  of  it  yet  need  to  be  worked  out,  it  deserves 
the  title  of  a new  system  of  philosophy.  If  it  be  as 
true  as  it  is  original,  its  publication  must  be  reck- 
oned an  important  event.  The  present  reviewer, 
for  one,  strongly  suspects  it  of  being  true. 

There  are  two  great  gaps  in  the  system,  which 
none  of  the  Chicago  writers  have  done  anything  to 
fill,  and  until  they  are  filled,  the  system,  as  a sys- 
tem, will  appear  defective.  There  is  no  cosmology, 
no  positive  account  of  the  order  of  physical  fact, 
as  contrasted  with  mental  fact,  and  no  account  of 
the  fact  (which  I assume  the  writers  to  believe  in) 
that  different  subjects  share  a common  object-world. 
These  lacunte  can  hardly  be  inadvertent — we  shall 
doubtless  soon  see  them  filled  in  some  way  by  one 
or  another  member  of  the  school. 

I might  go  into  much  greater  technical  detail,  and 
I might  in  particular  make  many  a striking  quota- 
tion. But  I prefer  to  be  exceedingly  summary,  and 
merely  to  call  the  reader’s  attention  to  the  impor- 
tance of  this  output  of  Chicago  University.  Tak- 
ing it  en  gros,  what  strikes  me  most  in  it  is  the 
great  sense  of  concrete  reality  with  which  it  is  filled. 
It  seems  a promising  via  media  between  the  empiri- 
cist and  transcendentalist  tendencies  of  our  time. 
Like  empiricism,  it  is  individualistic  and  phenome- 
nalistic ; it  places  truth  in  rebus , and  not  ante  rem. 

\ 


446 


[1904] 


THE  CHICAGO  SCHOOL 


It  resembles  transcendentalism,  on  the  other  hand, 
in  making  value  and  fact  inseparable,  and  in  stand- 
ing for  continuities  and  purposes  in  things.  It  em- 
ploys the  genetic  method  to  which  both  schools  are 
now  accustomed.  It  coincides  remarkably  with  the 
simultaneous  movement  in  favor  of  “pragmatism” 
or  “humanism”  set  up  quite  independently  at  Ox- 
ford by  Messrs.  Schiller  and  Sturt.  It  probably  has 
a great  future,  and  is  certainly  something  of  which 
Americans  may  be  proud.  Professor  Dewey  ought 
to  gather  into  another  volume  his  scattered  essays 
and  addresses  on  psychological  and  ethical  topics, 
for  now  that  his  philosophy  is  systematically  formu- 
lated, these  throw  a needed  light. 


A 


447 


XXXII 


HUMANISM  1 

[1904] 

Quite  recently  the  word  ‘‘pragmatism/’  first  used 
thirty  years  ago  by  onr  American  philosopher  C.  S. 
Peirce,  has  become  fashionable  as  the  designation  of 
a novel  way  of  looking  at  the  mind’s  relations  to 
reality.  Throughout  almost  the  entire  past  both 
Science  and  Philosophy  have  been  accustomed  to 
suppose  that  “Truth”  must  needs  consist  of  a hard- 
and-fast  system  of  propositions,  valid  in  themselves 
and  eternally,  which  our  minds  have  only  to  copy 
literally.  Logic  and  mathematics  had  always 
seemed  to  constitute  such  systems,  and  the  entities 
and  laws  of  physics  and  chemistry,  just  as  our  text- 
books formulated  them,  were  supposed  to  be  equally 
“objective.” 

But  three  influences  have  at  last  conspired  to  dis- 
solve away  this  appearance  of  absoluteness  in  such 
facts  and  truths  as  we  can  formulate.  First,  philo- 
sophic criticisms  like  those  of  Mill,  Lotze,  and  Sig- 
wart  have  emphasized  the  incongruence  of  the 
forms  of  our  thinking  with  the  “things”  which  the 

p Reprinted  with  omissions  from  Nation,  1904,  78,  175-176. 
Review  of  Humanism:  Philosophical  Essays , by  F.  C.  S.  Schiller, 
1903.  Cf.  also  above,  pp.  442-444.  Ed.] 


448 


[1904] 


HUMANISM 


thinking  nevertheless  successfully  handles.  (Predi- 
cates and  subjects,  for  example,  do  not  live  sepa- 
rately in  the  things,  as  they  do  in  our  judgments  of 
them.)  Second,  not  only  has  the  doctrine  of  Evo-  V 
lution  weaned  us  from  fixities  and  inflexibilities  in 
general,  and  given  us  a world  all  plastic,  but  it  has 
made  us  ready  to  imagine  almost  all  our  functions, 
even  the  intellectual  ones,  as  “adaptations,”  and 
possibly  transient  adaptations,  to  practical  human 
needs.  Lastly,  the  enormous  growth  of  the  sciences  J 
in  the  past  fifty  years  has  reconciled  us  to  the  idea 
that  “Not  quite  true”  is  as  near  as  we  can  ever  get. 
For  investigating  minds  there  is  no  sanctity  in  any 
theory,  and  “laws  of  nature”  absolutely  expressible 
by  us  are  idols  of  the  popular-science  level  of  educa- 
tion exclusively.  Up-to-date  logicians,  mathemati- 
cians, physicists,  and  chemists  vie  with  one  another 
as  to  who  will  break  down  most  barriers,  efface  most 
outlines,  supersede  most  current  definitions  and 
conceptions,  and  show  most  skill  in  playing  about 
the  old  material  in  new  ways,  limited  only  by  the 
one  rule  of  the  game,  that  the  new  thoughts  must 
dip  into  and  coalesce  with  the  material  at  more  than 
one  point  of  sensible  experience. 

Thus  has  arisen  the  pragmatism  of  Pearson  in 
England,  of  Mach  in  Austria,  and  of  the  somewhat 
more  reluctant  Poincare  in  France,  all  of  whom  say 
that  our  sciences  are  but  Denkmittel — “true”  in  no 
other  sense  than  that  of  yielding  a conceptual  short- 
hand, economical  for  our  descriptions.  Thus  does 
Simmel  in  Berlin  suggest  that  no  human  conception 


449 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0904] 


whatever  is  more  than  an  instrument  of  biological 
utility ; and  that  if  it  be  successfully  that,  we  may 
call  it  true,  whatever  it  resembles  or  fails  to  re- 
semble. Bergson,  and  more  particularly  his  dis- 
ciples Wilbois,  Le  Roy,  and  others  in  France,  have 
defended  a very  similar  doctrine.  Ostwald  in  Leip- 
zig, with  his  Energetics,  belongs  to  the  same  school, 
which  has  received  the  most  tlioroughgoingly  phil- 
osophical of  its  expressions  here  in  America,  in  the 
publications  of  Professor  Dewey  and  his  pupils  in 
Chicago  University,  publications  of  which  the  vol- 
ume Studies  in  Logical  Theory  (1903)  forms  only 
the  most  systematized  instalment.1 

Last  year  the  volume  Personal  Idealism,2  a collec- 
tion of  essays  by  Messrs.  Sturt,  Schiller,  and  other 
Oxford  teachers,  announced  the  pragmatist  doctrine 
radically  to  English  academic  circles ; and  now  Mr. 
Schiller  publishes  his  own  scattered  essays  to  the 
same  effect,  dropping  the  term  “pragmatism”  al- 
together, and  boldly  describing  as  “Humanism”  the 
philosophy  of  which  he  is  so  far  the  most  vivacious 
and  pugnacious  champion.  No  one  can  ever  foresee 
what  terms  will  succeed  in  the  struggle  to  gain  cur- 
rency. “Pragmatism”  ( i.e .,  practicalism)  is  cer- 
tainly somewhat  blind.  “Humahism”  is  perhaps 
too  “whole-hearted”  for  the  use  of  philosophers,  who 
are  a bloodless  breed;  but,  save  for  that  objection, 
one  might  back  it,  for  it  expresses  the  essence  of  the 
new  way  of  thought,  which  is,  that  it  is  impossible 

P Cf.  also  above,  pp.  445-447.  Ed.] 

[2  Cf.  above,  pp.  442-444.  Ed.] 


450 


[1904] 


HUMANISM 


to  strip  the  human  element  out  from  even  our  most 
abstract  theorizing.  All  our  mental  categories 
without  exception  have  been  evolved  because  of 
their  fruitfulness  for  life,  and  owe  their  being  to 
historic  circumstances,  just  as  much  as  do  the  nouns 
and  verbs  and  adjectives  in  which  our  languages 
clothe  them. 

But  humanistic  empiricism  will  have  many  other 
steps  forward  to  make  before  it  conquers  all  antago- 
nisms. Grant,  for  example,  that  our  human  sub- 
jectivity determines  what  we  shall  say  things  are; 
grant  that  it  gives  the  “predicates”  to  all  the  “sub- 
jects” of  our  conversation.  Still  the  fact  remains 
that  some  subjects  are  there  for  us  to  talk  about, 
and  others  not  there;  and  the  farther  fact  that,  in 
spite  of  so  many  different  ways  in  which  we  may 
perform  the  talking,  there  still  is  a grain  in  the 
subjects  which  we  can’t  well  go  against,  a cleavage- 
structure  which  resists  certain  of  our  predicates 
and  makes  others  slide  in  more  easily.  Does  not 
this  stubborn  that  of  some  things  and  not  of  others ; 
does  not  this  imperfect  plasticity  of  them  to  our 
conceptual  manipulation,  oppose  a positive  limit  to 
the  sphere  of  influence  of  humanistic  explanations? 
Does  not  the  fact  that  so  many  of  our  thoughts  are 
retroactive  in  their  application  point  to  a similar 
limit?  “Radium,”  for  example;  humanistically, 
both  the  that  and  the  what  of  it  are  creations  of 
yesterday.  But  we  believe  that  ultra-humanistically 
they  existed  ages  before  their  gifted  discoverers 


451 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  t1994l 


were  born.  In  what  shape?  There’s  the  rub ! for  we 
have  no  non-humanistic  categories  to  think  in.  But 
the  that  of  things,  and  their  affinity  with  some  of 
our  whats  and  not  with  others,  and  the  retroactive 
force  of  our  conceptions,  are  so  many  problems  for 
Humanism  over  which  battle  is  sure  to  rage  for  a 
long  time  to  come. 

Mr.  Schiller  has  but  skirted  some  of  these  prob- 
lems without  entering  into  them  deeply.  But  he  has 
gone  profoundly  into  others,  and  his  style  is  as  clean 
and  clear  and  lively  English,  as  his  thought  is 
strong  and  original.  His  ideas  are  sure  to  form  the 
storm-centre  for  the  philosophy  of  at  least  the  next 
decade.  . . . 


452 


XXXIII 


LAUEA  BRIDGMAN1 

[1904] 

The  world  changes,  and  the  minds  of  men.  Helen 
Keller  outstrips  Laura  Bridgman,  as  Rudyard  Kip- 
ling outstrips  Maria  Edgeworth.  Will  Helen  her- 
self appear  quaint  and  old-fashioned  fifty  years 
hence,  to  a generation  spoiled  by  some  still  more 
daring  recipient  of  its  sympathy  and  wonder?  We 
can  answer  such  a question  as  little  as  Dr.  Howe 
could  have  answered  it  fifty  years  ago;  for  the 
high-water  mark  of  one  age  in  every  line  of  its 
prowess  always  seems  “the  limit,” — at  any  rate  the 
only  limit  positively  imaginable  to  those  who  are 
living, — and  just  what  form  and  what  direction 
Evolution  will  strike  into  when  she  takes  her  next 
step  into  novelty  is  ever  a secret  till  the  step  is 
made. 

Laura  was  the  limit  in  her  day.  The  child  of 
seven  was  dumb  and  blind  and  almost  without  the 
sense  of  smell,  with  no  plaything  but  an  old  boot 
which  served  for  a doll,  and  with  so  little  education 
in  affection  that  she  had  never  been  taught  to  kiss. 

1 Laura  Bridgman.  Dr.  Uoice’s  Famous  Pupil  and  what  He 
taught  Her.  By  Maud  Howe  and  Florence  Howe  Hall.  Boston  : 
Little,  Brown  & Co.  1903.  [Reprinted  with  omissions  from 
Atlantic  Monthly,  January,  1904,  93,  95-98.  Ed.] 


453 


COLLECTED  ESSAY'S  AND  REVIEWS  D904] 


She  was  sternly  handled  at  home,  and  was  irascible 
and  an  object  of  fear  and  pity  to  all  but  one  of  the 
village  neighbors,  and  that  one  was  half-witted. 
The  way  in  which  she  became  in  a few  years, 
through  Dr.  Howe’s  devotion,  an  educated  girl, 
delicate-mannered,  spiritual-minded,  and  sweet- 
tempered,  seemed  such  a miracle  of  philanthropic 
achievement  that  the  fame  of  it  spread  not  only  over 
our  country,  but  throughout  Europe.  It  was  re- 
garded as  a work  of  edification,  a missionary  feat. 
The  Sunday-schools  all  heard  of  Laura  as  a soul 
buried  alive  but  disentombed  and  brought  into 
God’s  sunlight  by  science  and  religion  working  hand 
in  hand.  The  few  other  blind  deaf-mutes  on  whom 
attempts  at  rescue  had  been  made — Oliver  Caswell, 
Julia  Brace,  and  others — were  so  inferior  that 
Laura’s  decidedly  attenuated  personality  stood  for 
the  extreme  of  richness  attainable  by  humanity 
when  its  experience  was  limited  to  the  sense  of 
touch  alone.  Of  such  all-sided  ambitions  and  curi- 
osities, of  such  untrammelled  soarings  and  skim- 
mings  over  the  fields  of  language,  of  such  complete- 
ness of  memory  and  easy  mastery  of  realities  as 
Helen  Keller  has  shown  us,  no  one  then  had  a 
dream. 

It  is  now  indeed  the  age  of  Kipling  versus  that 
of  Edgeworth.  Laura  was  primarily  regarded  as  a 
phenomenon  of  conscience,  almost  a theological 
phenomenon.  Helen  is  primarily  a phenomenon  of 
vital  exuberance.  Life  for  her  is  a series  of  ad- 
ventures, rushed  at  with  enthusiasm  and  fun.  For 

454 


[1904] 


LAURA  BRIDGMAN 


Laura  it  was  more  like  a series  of  such  careful  in- 
door steps  as  a convalescent  makes  when  the  bed 
days  are  over.  Helen’s  age  is  that  of  the  scarehead 
and  portrait  bespattered  newspaper.  In  Laura’s 
time  the  papers  were  featureless,  and  the  public 
found  as  much  zest  in  exhibitions  at  institutions  for 
the  deaf  and  dumb  as  it  now  finds  in  football  games. 

In  contrast  with  the  recklessly  sensational  terms 
in  which  everything  nowadays  expresses  itself,  there 
seems  a sort  of  white  veil  of  primness  spread  over 
this  whole  biography  of  Laura.  All  those  who 
figure  in  it  bear  the  stamp  of  conscience.  Dr.  Howe 
himself  took  his  educative  task  religiously.  It  was 
his  idea,  as  it  was  that  of  all  the  American  liberals 
of  his  generation,  that  the  soul  has  intuitive  re- 
ligious faculties  which  life  will  awaken,  indepen- 
dently of  revelation.  Laura’s  nature  was  intensely 
moral, — almost  morbidly  so,  in  fact, — and  assimi- 
lated the  conception  of  a Divine  Ruler  with  great 
facility;  but  it  does  not  appear  certain  that  such 
an  idea  would  have  come  to  her  spontaneously. 
She  was  easily  converted  into  revivalistic  evangeli- 
cism  at  the  age  of  thirty-three,  through  communica- 
tions which  her  biographers  deplore  as  having  per- 
verted her  originally  optimistic  faith.  Her  spir- 
itual accomplishments  seem  to  have  been  regarded 
rather  as  matters  for  wonder  by  the  public  of  her 
day.  But,  granted  a nature  with  a bent  in  the  spir- 
itual direction,  it  is  hard  to  imagine  conditions  more 
favorable  to  its  development  than  Laura’s.  Her  im- 
mediate life,  once  it  was  redeemed  (as  Dr.  Howe  re- 


455 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0904] 


deemed  it)  from  quasi-animality,  was  almost  wholly 
one  of  conduct  toward  other  people.  Her  relations 
to  “things,”  only  tactile  at  best,  were  for  the  most 
part  remote  and  hearsay  and  symbolic.  Personal 
relations  had  to  be  her  foreground, — she  had  to 
think  in  terms  almost  exclusively  social  and  spir- 
itual. 

There  are  endless  interesting  traits,  some  of  them 
humanly  touching,  some  of  them  priceless  to  the  psy- 
chologist, scattered  through  this  life  of  Laura.  The 
question  immediately  suggests  itself,  Why  was 
Laura  so  superior  to  other  deaf-mutes,  and  why  is 
Helen  Keller  so  superior  to  Laura?  Since  Galton 
first  drew  attention  to  the  subject,  every  one  knows 
that  in  some  of  us  the  material  of  thought  is  mainly 
optical,  in  others  auditory,  etc.,  and  the  classifica- 
tion of  human  beings  into  the  eye-minded,  the 
ear-minded,  and  the  motor-minded,  is  familiar. 
Of  course  if  a person  is  born  to  be  eye-minded, 
blindness  will  maim  his  life  far  more  than  if 
he  is  ear-minded  originally.  If  ear-minded,  deaf- 
ness will  maim  him  most.  If  he  be  natively  con- 
structed on  a touch-minded  or  motor-minded  plan, 
he  will  lose  less  than  the  others  from  either  blind- 
ness or  deafness.  Touch-images  and  motor-images 
are  the  only  terms  that  subjects  “congenitally” 
blind  and  deaf  can  think  in.  It  may  be  that  Laura 
and  Helen  were  originally  meant  to  be  more  “tac- 
tile” and  “motile”  than  their  less  successful  rivals 
in  the  race  for  education,  and  that  Helen,  being 

456 


[1904] 


LAURA  BRIDGMAN 


more  exclusively  motor-minded  than  any  subject  yet 
met  with,  is  the  one  least  crippled  by  the  loss  of 
her  other  senses. 

But  such  comparisons  are  vague  conjectures. 
What  is  not  conjecture,  but  fact,  is  the  philosophical 
conclusion  which  we  are  forced  to  draw  from  the 
cases  both  of  Laura  and  of  Helen.  Their  entire 
thinking  goes  on  in  tactile  and  motor  symbols.  Of 
the  glories  of  the  world  of  light  and  sound  they  have 
no  inkling.  Their  thought  is  confined  to  the  pallid- 
est  verbal  substitutes  for  the  realities  which  are  its 
object.  The  mental  material  of  which  it  consists 
would  be  considered  by  the  rest  of  us  to  be  of  the 
deadliest  insipidity.  Nevertheless,  life  is  full  of 
absorbing  interest  to  each  of  them,  and  in  Helen’s 
case  thought  is  free  and  abundant  in  quite  excep- 
tional measure.  What  clearer  proof  could  we  ask 
of  the  fact  that  the  relations  among  things,  far  more 
than  the  things  themselves,  are  what  is  intellectu- 
ally interesting,  and  that  it  makes  little  difference 
what  terms  we  think  in,  so  long  as  the  relations 
maintain  their  character.  All  sorts  of  terms  can 
transport  the  mind  with  equal  delight,  provided 
they  be  woven  into  equally  massive  and  far-reaching 
schemes  and  systems  of  relationship.  They  are  then 
equivalent  for  intellectual  purposes,  and  for  yield- 
ing intellectual  pleasure,  for  the  schemes  and  sys- 
tems are  what  the  mind  finds  interesting. 

Laura’s  life  should  find  a place  in  every  library. 
Dr.  Howe’s  daughters  have  executed  it  with  tact 
and  feeling.  No  reader  can  fail  to  catch  some- 


457 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  H904] 


thing  of  Laura’s  own  touching  reverence  for  the 
noble  figure  of  “the  Doctor.”  And  if  the  ruddier 
pages  which  record  Helen’s  exploits  make  the  good 
Laura’s  image  seem  just  a little  anaemic  by  contrast, 
we  cannot  forget  that  there  never  could  have  been 
a Helen  Keller  if  there  had  not  been  a Laura 
Bridgman. 


458 


XXXIY 


a.  PAPINI  AND  THE  PRAGMATIST 
MOVEMENT  IN  ITALY  1 

[1906] 

American  students  have  so  long  had  the  habit  of 
turning  to  Germany  for  their  philosophic  inspira- 
tion, that  they  are  only  beginning  to  recognize  the 
splendid  psychological  and  philosophical  activity 
with  which  France  to-day  is  animated;  and  as  for 
poor  little  Italy,  few  of  them  think  it  necessary 
even  to  learn  to  read  her  language.  Meanwhile 
Italy  is  engaged  in  the  throes  of  an  intellectual 
rinascimento  quite  as  vigorous  as  her  political  one. 
Her  sons  still  class  the  things  of  thought  somewhat 
too  politically,  making  parti zan  capital,  clerical  or 
positivist,  of  every  conquest  or  concession,  but  that 
is  only  the  slow  dying  of  a habit  born  in  darker 
times.  The  ancient  genius  of  her  people  is  evidently 
unweakened,  and  the  tendency  to  individualism 
that  has  always  marked  her  is  beginning  to  mark 
her  again  as  strongly  as  ever,  and  nowhere  more 
notably  than  in  philosophy. 

As  an  illustration,  let  me  give  a brief  account  of 
the  aggressive  movement  in  favor  of  “pragma-tism” 

t1  Reprinted  from  Journal  of  Philosophy,  Psychology,  and 
Scientific  Methods,  1906,  3,  337-341.  Ed.] 


459 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  G906l 


which  the  monthly  journal  Leonardo  (published  at 
Florence,  and  now  in  its  fourth  year)  is  carrying 
on,  with  the  youthful  Giovanni  Papini  tipping  the 
wedge  of  it  as  editor,  and  the  scarcely  less  youthful 
names  of  Prezzolini,  Vailati,  Calderoni,  Amendola, 
and  others,  signing  the  more  conspicuous  articles. 
To  one  accustomed  to  the  style  of  article  that  has 
usually  discussed  pragmatism,  Deweyism,  or  radi- 
cal empiricism,  in  this  country,  and  more  particu- 
larly in  this  Journal , the  Italian  literature  of  the 
subject  is  a surprising,  and  to  the  present  writer  a 
refreshing,  novelty.  Our  university  seminaries 
( where  so  many  bald-headed  and  bald-liearted  young 
aspirants  for  the  Ph.D.  have  all  these  years  been 
accustomed  to  bore  one  another  with  the  pedantry 
and  technicality,  formless,  uncircumcised,  un- 
abashed, and  unrebuked,  of  their  “papers”  and  “re- 
ports”) are  bearing  at  last  the  fruit  that  was  to  be 
expected,  in  an  almost  complete  blunting  of  the 
literary  sense  in  the  more  youthful  philosophers  of 
our  land.  Surely  no  other  country  could  utter  in 
the  same  number  of  months  as  badly  written  a phil- 
osophic mass  as  ours  has  published  since  Dewey’s 
Studies  in  Logical  Theory  came  out.  Germany  is 
not  “in  it”  with  us,  in  my  estimation,  for  uncouth- 
ness of  form. 

In  this  Florentine  band  of  Leonardists,  on  the 
other  hand,  we  find,  instead  of  heaviness,  length, 
and  obscurity,  lightness,  clearness,  and  brevity,  with 
no  lack  of  profundity  or  learning  (quite  the  reverse, 
indeed) , and  a frolicsomeness  and  impertinence  that 


460 


[1906] 


PRAGMATISM  IN  ITALY 


wear  the  charm  of  youth  and  freedom.  Signor 
Papini  in  particular  has  a real  genius  for  cutting 
and  untechnical  phraseology.  He  can  write  descrip- 
tive literature,  polychromatic  with  adjectives,  like 
a decadent,  and  clear  up  a subject  by  drawing  cold 
distinctions,  like  a scholastic.  As  he  is  the  most 
enthusiastic  pragmatist  of  them  all  (some  of  his 
colleagues  make  decided  reservations)  I will  speak 
of  him  exclusively.  He  advertises  a general  work  on 
the  pragmatist  movement  as  in  press ; but  the  Feb- 
ruary number  of  Leonardo  and  the  last  chapter  of 
his  just  published  volume,  II  Crepuscolo  dei  Filo- 
sofi,1  give  his  programme,  and  announce  him  as  the 
most  radical  conceiver  of  pragmatism  to  be  found 
anywhere. 

The  Crepuscolo  book  calls  itself  in  the  preface  a 
work  of  “passion,”  being  a settling  of  the  author’s 
private  accounts  with  several  philosophers  (Kant, 
Hegel,  Schopenhauer,  Comte,  Spencer,  Nietzsche ) 
and  a clearing  of  his  mental  tables  from  their  im- 
peding rubbish,  so  as  to  leave  him  the  freer  for  con- 
structive business.  I will  only  say  of  the  critical 
chapters  that  they  are  strongly  thought  and  pun- 
gently  written.  The  author  hits  essentials,  but  he 
doesn’t  always  cover  everything,  and  more  than  he 
has  said,  either  for  or  against,  remains  to  be  said 
about  both  Kant  and  Hegel.  It  is  the  preface  and 
the  final  chapter  of  the  book  that  contain  the  pas- 
sion. The  “good  riddance,”  which  is  Papini’s  cry 
of  farewell  to  the  past  of  philosophy,  seems  most  of 

1 Milano  : Society  Editrice  Lombarda. 

461 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0906] 


all  to  signify  for  him  a good-by  to  its  exaggerated 
respect  for  universals  and  abstractions.  Reality 
for  him  exists  only  distributively , in  the  particular 
concretes  of  experience.  Abstracts  and  universals 
are  only  instruments  by  which  we  meet  and  handle 
these  latter. 

In  an  article  in  Leonardo  last  year,1  he  states  the 
whole  pragmatic  scope  and  programme  very  neatly. 
Fundamentally,  he  says,  it  means  an  unstijfening  of 
all  our  theories  and  beliefs  by  attending  to  their 
instrumental  value.  It  incorporates  and  harmonizes 
various  ancient  tendencies,  as 

1.  Nominalism , by  which  he  means  the  appeal  to 
the  particular.  Pragmatism  is  nominalistic  not 
only  in  regard  to  words,  but  in  regard  to  phrases 
and  to  theories. 

2.  Utilitarianism , or  the  emphasizing  of  practical 
aspects  and  problems. 

3.  Positivism , or  the  disdain  of  verbal  and  use- 
less questions. 

4.  Kantism , in  so  far  as  Kant  affirms  the  primacy 
of  practical  reason. 

5.  Voluntarism,  in  the  psychological  sense,  of  the 
intellect’s  secondary  position. 

6.  Fideism,  in  its  attitude  towards  religious  ques- 
tions. 

Pragmatism,  according  to  Papini,  is  thus  only  a 
collection  of  attitudes  and  methods,  and  its  chief 
characteristic  is  its  armed  neutrality  in  the  midst 
of  doctrines.  It  is  like  a corridor  in  a hotel,  from 

'April,  1905,  p.  45. 

462 


[1906] 


PRAGMATISM  IN  ITALY 


which  a hundred  doors  open  into  a hundred  cham- 
bers. In  one  you  may  see  a man  on  his  knees  pray- 
ing to  regain  his  faith;  in  another  a desk  at  which 
sits  some  one  eager  to  destroy  all  metaphysics ; in  a 
third  a laboratory  with  an  investigator  looking  for 
new  footholds  by  which  to  advance  upon  the  future. 
But  the  corridor  belongs  to  all,  and  all  must  pass 
there.  Pragmatism,  in  short,  is  a great  corridor- 
theory. 

In  the  Crepuscolo  Signor  Papini  says  that  what 
pragmatism  has  always  meant  for  him  is  the  neces- 
sity of  enlarging  our  means  of  action,  the  vanity  of 
the  universal  as  such,  the  bringing  of  our  spiritual 
powers  into  use,  and  the  need  of  making  the  world 
over  instead  of  merely  standing  by  and  contemplat- 
ing it.  It  inspires  human  activity,  in  short,  differ- 
ently from  other  philosophies. 

“The  common  denominator  to  which  all  the  forms 
of  human  life  can  be  reduced  is  this:  the  quest  of 
instruments  to  act  with , or,  in  other  words,  the 
quest  of  power” 

By  “action”  Signor  Papini  means  any  change  into 
which  man  enters  as  a conscious  cause,  whether  it 
be  to  add  to  existing  reality  or  to  subtract  from  it. 
Art,  science,  religion,  and  philosophy  all  are  but  so 
many  instruments  of  change.  Art  changes  things 
for  our  vision ; religion  for  our  vital  tone  and  hope ; 
science  tells  us  how  to  change  the  course  of  nature 
and  our  conduct  towards  it;  philosophy  is  only  a 
more  penetrating  science.  Tristan  and  Isolde,  Para- 
dise, Atoms,  Substance,  neither  of  them  copies  any- 


463 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0906] 


thing  real;  all  are  creations  placed  above  reality, 
to  transform,  build  out,  and  interpret  it  in  the  in- 
terests of  human  need  or  passion.  Instead  of  affirm- 
ing with  the  positivists  that  we  must  render  the 
ideal  world  as  similar  as  possible  to  the  actual,  Sig- 
nor Papini  emphasizes  our  duty  of  turning  the  ac- 
tual world  into  as  close  a copy  of  the  ideal  as  it  will 
let  us.  The  various  ideal  worlds  are  here  because 
the  real  world  fails  to  satisfy  us.  They  are  more 
adapted  to  us,  realize  more  potently  our  desires. 
We  should  treat  them  as  ideal  limits  towards  which 
reality  must  evermore  be  approximated. 

All  our  ideal  instruments  are  as  yet  imperfect. 
Arts,  religions,  sciences,  philosophies,  have  their 
vices  and  defects,  and  the  worst  of  all  are  those  of 
the  philosophies.  But  philosophy  can  be  regener- 
ated. Since  change  and  action  are  the  most  general 
ideals  possible,  philosophy  can  become  a “prag- 
matic” in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word,  meaning  a 
general  theory  of  human  action.  Ends  and  means 
can  here  be  studied  together,  in  the  abstractest  and 
most  inclusive  way,  so  that  philosophy  can  resolve 
itself  into  a comparative  discussion  of  all  the  pos- 
sible programs  for  man’s  life  when  man  is  once  for 
all  regarded  as  a creative  being. 

As  such,  man  becomes  a kind  of  god,  and  where 
are  we  to  draw  his  limits?  In  an  article  called 
“From  Man  to  God”  in  the  Leonardo  for  last  Febru- 
ary Signor  Papini  lets  his  imagination  work  at 
stretching  the  limits.  His  attempt  will  be  called 
Promethean  or  bullfroggian,  according  to  the  tern- 


464 


[1906] 


PRAGMATISM  IN  ITALY 


per  of  the  reader.  It  has  decidedly  an  element  of 
literary  swagger  and  conscious  impertinence,  hut  I 
confess  that  I am  unable  to  treat  it  otherwise  than 
respectfully.  Why  should  not  the  divine  attributes 
of  omniscience  and  omnipotence  be  used  by  man  as 
the  pole-stars  by  which  he  may  methodically  lay  his 
own  course?  Why  should  not  divine  rest  be  his  own 
ultimate  goal,  rest  attained  by  an  activity  in  the  end 
so  immense  that  all  desires  are  satisfied,  and  no 
more  action  necessary?  The  unexplored  powers  and 
relations  of  man,  both  physical  and  mental,  are  cer- 
tainly enormous;  why  should  we  impose  limits  on 
them  a priori t And,  if  not,  why  are  the  most  uto- 
pian programmes  not  in  order? 

The  programme  of  a Man-God  is  surely  one  of  the 
possible  great  type-programmes  of  philosophy.  I 
myself  have  been  slow  in  coming  into  the  full  in- 
wardness of  pragmatism.  Schiller’s  writings  and 
those  of  Dewey  and  his  school  have  taught  me  some 
of  its  wider  reaches;  and  in  the  writings  of  this 
youthful  Italian,  clear  in  spite  of  all  their  brevity 
and  audacity,  I find  not  only  a way  in  which  our 
English  views  might  be  developed  farther  with  con- 
sistency— at  least  so  it  appears  to  me — but  also  a 
tone  of  feeling  well  fitted  to  rally  devotees  and  to 
make  of  pragmatism  a new  militant  form  of  re- 
ligious or  quasi-religious  philosophy. 

The  supreme  merit  of  it  in  these  adventurous  re- 
gions is  that  it  can  never  grow  doctrinarian  in  ad- 
vance of  verification,  or.  make  dogmatic  pretensions. 

When,  as  one  looks  back  from  the  actual  world 


465 


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that  one  believes  and  lives  and  moves  in,  and  tries 
to  understand  how  the  knowledge  of  its  content  and 
structure  ever  grew  up  step  by  step  in  our  minds, 
one  has  to  confess  that  objective  and  subjective  in- 
fluences have  so  mingled  in  the  process  that  it  is 
impossible  now  to  disentangle  their  contributions  or 
to  give  to  either  the  primacy.  When  a man  has 
walked  a mile,  who  can  say  whether  his  right  or  his 
left  leg  is  the  more  responsible?  and  who  can  say 
whether  the  water  or  the  clay  is  most  to  be  thanked 
for  the  evolution  of  the  bed  of  an  existing  river? 
Something  like  this  I understand  to  be  Messrs. 
Dewey’s  and  Schiller’s  contention  about  “truth.” 
The  subjective  and  objective  factors  of  any  pres- 
ently functioning  body  of  it  are  lost  in  the  night  of 
time  and  indistinguishable.  Only  the  way  in  which 
we  see  a new  truth  develop  shows  us  that,  by  an- 
alogy, subjective  factors  must  always  have  been  ac- 
tive. Subjective  factors  thus  are  potent,  and  their 
effects  remain.  They  are  in  some  degree  creative, 
then;  and  this  carries  with  it,  it  seems  to  me,  the 
admissibility  of  the  entire  Italian  pragmatistic  pro- 
gramme. But,  be  the  God-Man  part  of  it  sound  or 
foolish,  the  Italian  pragmatists  are  an  extraordi- 
narily well-informed  and  gifted,  and  above  all  an 
extraordinarily  free  and  spirited  and  unpedantic, 
group  of  writers. 


466 


XXXV 


THE  MAD  ABSOLUTE1 

[1906] 

Mr.  Gore,  in  this  Journal  for  October  11,  tries 
very  neatly  to  turn  Mr.  Schiller’s  joke  on  the  abso- 
lute against  the  joker,  and  I suppose  that  those 
whom  the  latter  gentleman’s  jokes  vex  are  corre- 
spondingly content. 

But  are  the  tables  turned? 

It  is  we  in  our  dissociated,  finite  shapes  who  are 
made,  says  Mr.  Gore,  and  not  the  absolute.  The 
absolute  in  its  integrated  shape  is  the  very  beau 
ideal  of  sanity,  and  in  our  own  successful  quest  of 
it,  he  adds,  lies  our  only  hope  of  cure.  Get  con- 
fluent with  one  another,  restore  the  original  un- 
brokenness of  our  infinitely  inclusive  real  self,  and 
the  universe  will  wake  up  well. 

But  in  the  name  of  all  that’s  absolute  how  did  it 
ever  get  so  sick?  That  we  finite  subjects  are  sick 
we  know  well  enough,  and  no  philosophy  beyond  the 
plainest  lessons  of  our  finite  experience  is  needed  to 
teach  us  that  more  union  among  ourselves  would 
be  remedial.  But  if  all  these  distracted  persons  of 

[‘Reprinted  from  Journal  of  Philosophy,  Psychology,  and 
Scientific  Methods,  1906,  3,  656-657.  It  was  written  in  reply  to 
W.  C.  Gore’s  “The  Mad  Absolute  of  a Pluralist,”  ibid.,  575-577 ; 
and  in  support  of  F.  C.  S.  Schiller’s  “Idealism  and  the  Dissocia- 
tion of  Personality,”  ibid.,  477-482.  Ed.] 


467 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0906] 


ours  really  signify  tlie  absolute  in  a state  of  mad- 
ness, why,  how  or  when  did  it  get  mad?  If  it  was 
ever  sane,  its  friends  ought  surely  to  explain.  More- 
over, in  that  case  must  it  be  supposed  that  we  have 
once  for  all  superseded  and  abolished  its  primal 
wholeness,  or  does  the  wholeness  still  obtain  entire 
behind  the  scenes,  coexisting  with  our  fragmentary 
persons,  and,  like  another  Sally  Beauchamp,  know- 
ing about  us  all  the  while  we  know  so  little  about 
it? 

If  the  former  alternative  be  the  true  one,  we  are 
back  in  the  time-process  and  the  mystery  of  a fall, 
re-edited  in  these  days  by  Messrs.  Renouvier  and 
Prat.  Mr.  Gore’s  monist  puts  the  case  in  time-form, 
as  a dramatic  event,  and  seems  to  adopt  this  horn 
of  the  dilemma.  But  another  monist  might  con- 
sider this  unorthodox,  and  insist  that  the  absolute 
is  “timeless”  and  that  it  lives,  Sally-like,  alongside 
of  our  split-off  selves. 

But  in  this  latter  case  what  would  be  the  sig- 
nificance of  that  reunion  of  these  selves,  from  which, 
according  to  the  absolutist  philosophy,  we  are  to 
hope  for  a cure?  Is  it  to  produce  a second  absolute, 
duplicating  the  first  one?  Or  is  it  to  be  imagined 
as  a reabsorption  rather,  with  only  the  one  indivis- 
ible primary  absolute  left?  How  ought  we  to  con- 
ceive it  at  all?  Reabsorption  would  seem  inadmis- 
sible on  absolutist  principles.  It  would  hardly  go 
without  the  time-process;  and  would  moreover  be 
strongly  suggestive  of  the  cure  of  a disease  upon  the 
eternal  absolute  subject,  much  as  an  eruption  may 


408 


[1906] 


THE  MAD  ABSOLUTE 


break  out  and  be  “resolved”  again  upon  one’s  skin. 
But  the  absolute  can  have  no  skin,  no  outside. 

I doubt,  therefore,  whether  Mr.  Gore’s  monist  has 
greatly  helped  his  client’s  plight.  Nor  would  it  es- 
sentially mend  matters  for  him  simply  to  declare 
that  the  absolute  is  eternally  three  things — its  pure 
identical  self,  the  finite  emanation  or  eruption  and 
the  reabsorption,  all  in  one.  And  yet  I believe  that 
the  path  that  Mr.  Schiller  and  he  have  struck  into  is 
likely  to  prove  a most  important  lead.  The  abso- 
lute is  surely  one  of  the  great  hypotheses  of  philos- 
ophy; it  must  be  thoroughly  discussed.  Its  advo- 
cates have  usually  treated  it  only  as  a logical  neces- 
sity ; and  very  bad  logic,  as  it  seems  to  me,  have  they 
invariably  used.  It  is  high  time  that  the  hypothesis 
of  a world-consciousness  should  be  discussed  seri- 
ously, as  we  discuss  any  other  question  of  fact ; and 
that  means  inductively  and  in  the  light  of  all  the 
natural  analogies  that  can  be  brought  to  bear.  No 
philosophy  can  ever  do  more  than  interpret  the 
whole,  which  is  unknown,  after  the  analogy  of  some 
particular  part  which  we  know.  So  far,  Fechner 
is  the  only  thinker  who  has  done  any  elaborate  work 
of  this  kind  on  the  world-soul  question,  although 
Royce  deserves  praise  for  having  used  arguments 
for  analogy  along  with  his  logical  proofs.  I cannot 
help  thinking  that  Fechner’s  successors,  if  he  ever 
have  any,  must  make  great  use  of  just  such  cases  as 
the  one  so  admirably  analyzed  and  told  by  Dr. 
Prince.1 

1 Morton  Prince,  The  Dissociation  of  a Personality. 

469 


XXXVI 


CONTROVERSY  ABOUT  TRUTH  1 

[1907] 

To  the  Editors  op  the  Journal  op  Philosophy, 

Psychology  and  Scientific  Methods: 

The  pragmatistic  conception  of  truth  is  so  impor- 
tant that  no  amount  of  printer’s  ink  spent  upon  it 
ought  to  be  considered  wasted.  My  exposition  of  it 
in  No.  6 of  this  year’s  Journal  was  sent  back  to  me 
with  copious  critical  annotations  on  its  margins  by 
Prof.  John  E.  Russell.  This  led  to  an  exchange  of 
letters  between  us,  in  which  one  issue,  at  least,  got 
sharpened;  and  as  that  issue  is  probably  the  most 
prevalent  stumbling-block,  I ask  you,  in  the  inter- 
est of  clarifying  the  question,  to  print  the  corre- 
spondence as  it  was  written.  I subjoin  our  letters. 

Sincerely  yours, 

William  James. 

I 

Dear  Russell:  Your  notes  bring  out  the  exact 
point  of  misunderstanding,  and  the  exact  difficulty 
with  which  pragmatism  has  to  cope  in  making  con- 
verts. 

f1  A series  of  letters  exchanged  with  Prof.  John  E.  Russell  of 
Williams  College.  Reprinted  from  Journal  of  Philosophy , 
Psychology,  and  Scientific  Methods,  1907,  289-296.  Ed.] 


470 


[1907]  CONTROVERSY  ABOUT  TRUTH 


You  say : “Events  in  the  way  of  verification  do  not 
make  an  idea  true,  they  only  prove  that  it  is  true  or 
was  true ” — there  is  the  whole  difference  between  us 
in  a nutshell. 

The  statement  seems  to  mean  that  truth  is  a qual- 
ity of  the  idea  numerically  distinct  from  the  events 
which  are  its  proof;  but  don’t  you  then  think  that 
the  said  quality  ought  to  be  somehow  definable  as  it 
is  in  and  per  se?  I hoped  for  the  definition  as  I read 
your  comments;  but  in  the  end  I found  no  new 
definition,  only  the  old  ones  of  “agreement  with 
reality”  and  of  “thinking  the  reality  as  it  is.” 

Now  what  does  agreement  mean?  Does  it  mean 
anything  different  from  (or  prior  to)  the  copyings 
and  leadings  by  which  pragmatism  explicates  the 
word?  These  are  perfectly  well-defined  relations  of 
the  idea  to  the  reality  or  to  the  reality’s  associates 
and  surroundings. 

And  what  does  “thinking  the  reality  as  it  is” 
mean  unless  it  be  either  copying  it,  or  leading 
straight  up  to  it,  or  thinking  it  in  its  right  sur- 
roundings— which  last  notion  means  terminating  at 
places  to  which  it,  the  reality,  also  leads? 

You  speak  of  Leverrier’s  idea  of  Neptune  being 
true  before  it  had  led  him  to  verify  it.  Doubtless ! 
but  pray  define  its  truth  apart  from  those  leadings 
and  guidings.  The  word  truth  means  just  such 
leadings  and  guidings.  Had  his  idea  led  him  to 
point  his  telescope  to  a vacant  part  of  the  sky,  it 
would  have  been  untrue — -is  untruth,  then,  also  a 
resident  and  previous  quality  in  ideas?  Leading  to 


471 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1907] 


that  point,  Leverrier’s  idea  certainly  was  true — I 
can  conceive  no  other  kind  of  truth — and,  of  course, 
quite  as  true  when  only  verifiable  as  it  was  after 
the  verification.  Even  so  the  star  was  Neptune 
both  before  and  after  its  baptism,  for  in  the  star 
universe  that  star  is  all  that  Neptune  ever  can 
mean. 

In  the  case  of  Neptune  you  don’t  separate  the 
name  from  the  fact  found,  and  make  it  a cause 
thereof;  you  don’t  say  the  star  was  found  at  that 
point  because  it  was  Neptune ; but  in  the  case  of  the 
idea  you  say  it  led  to  that  point  because  it  was  true. 
But  just  as  Neptune  means  nothing  but  the  star 
which  at  a certain  moment  is  at  that  point,  so  true 
means  nothing  but  the  idea  which,  instead  of  lead- 
ing you  elsewhere,  leads  you  thither.  Otherwise  it’s 
like  raising  a dispute  about  whether  blood  is  red 
because  it  looks  so,  or  looks  so  because  it’s  red.  You 
ought  to  insist  on  the  latter  formula;  I call  them 
equally  correct.  You  may  say  either  that  the  lead- 
ing makes  the  idea  true  or  that  it  proves  it  true,  for 
you  are  only  talking  of  the  same  thing  in  different 
words:  The  leading  both  makes  you  call  the  idea 
true,  and  proves  that  you  have  called  it  so  justly. 

Take  another  illustration.  Does  bread  nourish 
us  because  it  is  food?  Or  is  it  food  because  it  nour- 
ishes? Or,  finally,  are  being  food  and  nourishing 
only  two  wrays  of  naming  the  same  physiological 
events?  And  if  this  last  view  be  correct  here,  why 
isn’t  it  just  as  correct  in  the  case  of  truth? 

The  concrete  facts  denoted  by  the  word  truth  are 


472 


U907]  CONTROVERSY  ABOUT  TRUTH 


ideas  that  guide  us  towards  certain  termini.  Other 
connotations  of  the  word  than  these  same  guidings 
it  is  for  you  to  show.  If  you  can’t,  then  we  may 
say  either  that  the  ideas  are  true  because  they  guide, 
or  that  they  guide  because  they  are  true : To  be  true 
and  to  guide  are  precisely  equipollent  terms  of 
which  you  may  make  either  you  like  the  more  pri- 
mordial in  significance. 

Otherwise  (and  this  is  the  point  which  I empha- 
size, and  on  which  I insist)  you  must  point  out  some 
substantive  connotation  in  the  word  truth  over  and 
above  such  guiding  processes.  If  you  can  do  this, 
I surrender ; but  I don’t  see  how  you  can  do  it. 

It  seems  to  me  that  there  is  no  other  connotation, 
any  more  than  there  is  in  the  case  of  Neptune.  Nep- 
tune means  the  star  that  gets  there,  and  true  means 
the  idea  that  “gets  there.”  Agreement,  correspond- 
ence, thinking  the  object  as  it  is,  all  resolve  them- 
selves into  guidings,  into  “getting  there”  somehow. 
You  argue  as  if,  in  spite  of  its  getting  there,  an 
idea  might  still  be  false,  unless  the  intrinsic  epi- 
stemological virtue  of  being  true  were  superadded. 
I wish  you’d  explain  how.  To  me  it  couldn’t  be 
false  under  those  circumstances. 

Revert  to  food.  In  this  case  we  do  have  some  ad- 
ditional connotations — a certain  chemical  structure, 
say — that  explain  the  physiological  events  in  ad- 
vance. (We  know  nothing  of  such  connotations  as 
yet,  but  we  suppose  they  may  some  day  be  known. ) 
If  the  word  food  should  connote  primarily  such 
chemical  structure,  and  only  secondarily  digestions, 


473 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0907] 


absorptions,  etc.,  then  you  might  contend  that  bread 
nourishes  because  it  is  food,  and  isn’t  food  because 
it  nourishes.  But  you  would  still  be  on*  purely 
verbal  ground;  and  even  then  you  would  have  to 
define  positively  these  new-fangled  connotations. 

Meanwhile  please  observe  that  the  word  true  has 
absolutely  no  such  further  connotations ; it  has  no 
more  of  them  than  Neptune  has.  It  denotes  certain 
ideas,  and  it  connotes  their  “getting  there.” 

Here  I must  leave  the  matter.  As  a pragmatist, 
I can  defy  you  to  find  any  other  practical  meaning  to 
the  word  truth  than  that  it  guides  and  gets  us  there. 
If,  failing  to  do  that,  you  nevertheless  call  our  ac- 
count an  inadequate  account  of  what  you  mean  by 
truth,  why  then,  again  as  a pragmatist,  I can  wash 
my  hands  of  the  whole  controversy.  It  is  trivial. 
It  has  no  meaning. 

Yours,  etc., 

William  James. 


II 

Dear  James:  I think  the  issue  between  the  in- 
tellectualist  and  the  pragmatist  narrows  itself 
down  to  the  question  of  the  validity  and  value  of 
two  distinctions.  The  first  is  the  distinction  be- 
tween the  idea’s  being  true  and  the  proof  that  the 
idea  is  true.  The  second  distinction  is  that  between 
a true  idea  and  its  instrumental  function  in  leading, 
guiding  behavior  to  desirable  issues  in  experience. 

The  intellectualist  insists  that  these  distinctions 


474 


[3-907]  CONTROVERSY  ABOUT  TRUTH 


are  valid  and  important  to  a right  conception  of 
knowledge.  The  pragmatist  denies  this;  he  con- 
tends that  the  terms  “true,”  “truth,”  “leading,” 
“guiding,”  “getting  there,”  etc.,  are  different  names 
for  the  same  thing ; that  the  term  “truth”  applied 
to  an  idea  has  the  same  function  that  the  name 
“Neptune,”  for  instance,  has  when  applied  to  a 
particular  planetary  body  in  the  heavens.  The 
pragmatist,  after  having  made  “agreeing  with 
reality,”  “being  as  it  is  thought,”  etc.,  mean  lead- 
ing, guiding,  coming  into  practical  relations  with, 
getting  there,  etc.,  challenges  the  intellectualist  to 
point  out  any  other  significant  connection  which  his 
terms  “true,”  “truth,”  etc.,  can  have.  The  prag- 
matist says  to  the  intellectualist,  “I  pray  you  to 
define  the  truth  of  an  idea  _ apart  from  its  leadings 
and  guidings.  I defy  you  to  supply  other  mean- 
ings to  the  word  ‘truth’  than  that  of  guiding  and 
getting  us  there.  Does  ‘agreement’  mean  anything 
different  from  that  copying  and  leading  by  which 
pragmatism  explicates  this  word?” 

Now  this  puts  the  intellectualist  in  a hard  situa- 
tion. If  he  answers,  “I  mean  by  a true  idea,  an  idea 
that  agrees  with,  that  copies  or  corresponds  to 
reality,”  the  pragmatist  replies,  “But  what  is  it  to 
agree  with,  to  copy,  etc.,  reality,  if  it  be  not  just  to 
lead,  to  guide,  to  get  there?”  Now  what  can  the 
intellectualist  say  in  reply?  Suppose  he  undertakes 
to  define  his  meaning  of  truth  in  different  terms, 
these  terms  would  suffer  the  same  fate;  the  prag- 
matist would  explicate  them  in  his  terms,  of  lead- 


475 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0907] 


ing,  guiding,  getting  there,  etc.,  and  then  ask  the 
naked  intellectualist  to  put  on  different  garments. 

I can  see  no  other  way  by  which  the  intellectualist 
can  escape  this  dilemma  than  simply  to  abide  by 
the  terms  by  which  he  has  defined  a true  idea , and 
insist  that  it  is  the  pragmatist  who  has  forced  upon 
these  terms  a meaning  they  can  not  take  without 
involving  one  in  intellectual  confusion.  The  in- 
tellectualist should,  therefore,  maintain  that  the 
terms  in  which  he  explicates  the  meaning  of  a true 
idea  give  a perfectly  defined  relation  of  the  idea  to 
reality.  What  more  definite  relation  can  legiti- 
mately be  demanded?  How  can  the  intellectualist 
in  fairness  be  asked  to  define  in  other  terms  what 
he  means  by  “agreement  with,”  by  “copying,”  by 
“thinking  reality  as  it  is”?  May  he  not  with  more 
propriety  ask  the  pragmatist  by  what  right  he 
makes  these  terms  mean  leading,  guiding,  getting 
there,  etc.? 

This  leads  me  to  the  real  issue  between  the  intel- 
lectualist and  the  pragmatist,  and  first  to  that  dis- 
tinction between  an  idea’s  being  true  and  the  proof 
that  it  is  or  was  true.  Let  us  take  the  case  of  Lever- 
rier  and  the  discovery  of  the  planet  Neptune.  We 
have  the  following  things : — 

1.  Certain  perturbations  in  the  motions  of  the 
planet  Uranus  which  could  not  be  explained  by 
the  influence  of  the  known  bodies  of  the  solar 
system. 

2.  We  have  Leverrier’s  idea  of  a planetary  body 
of  a certain  mass  and  position  in  the  heavens. 


476 


[1907]  CONTROVERSY  ABOUT  TRUTH 


3.  We  have  the  agreement  between  the  calculated 
perturbations  which  this  hypothetical  body  should 
produce  in  the  motions  of  Uranus,  and  the  actual 
perturbations  observed. 

4.  We  have  the  discovery  of  this  planet,  after- 
wards named  Neptune,  by  a German  astronomer 
who,  following  the  suggestion  of  Leverrier,  pointed 
his  telescope  to  that  exact  spot  in  the  heavens  where 
this  planet  was. 

Now  the  intellectualist  contends  that  Leverrier’s 
hypothetical  conception  was  true  the  instant  it 
existed  in  his  mind,  and  that  the  trueness  of  his 
idea  consisted  in  its  agreement  with  a fact,  a piece 
of  reality,  an  object  at  that  time  existing,  viz.,  that 
planet  occupying  a particular  place  in  the  physical 
universe.  It  was  the  existence  of  Neptune  then  and 
there  which  made  it  possible  for  him  to  have  a true 
idea  at  that  time.  Had  he  thought  differently  about 
this  planet,  this  same  body  would  have  made  his 
thought  ?mtrue.  His  idea  was  true  for  no  other 
reason,  and  true  in  no  other  meaning  of  the  terms, 
than  that  it  agreed  with  its  object.  Furthermore, 
the  contention  of  the  intellectualist  is,  that  had 
Leverrier  gone  no  farther  in  his  undertaking,  had  no 
telescope  ever  discovered  that  planet,  his  idea 
would  have  been  as  true  as  it  was  after  the  discovery 
which  completed  the  verification  of  his  hypothesis. 
His  idea  did  not  get  its  quality  of  truth  by  the 
process  of  verification — this  only  produced  the  cer- 
tainty in  his  and  in  other  minds  that  this  idea  was 
true.  It  is  one  thing  for  an  idea  to  be  true — it  is 


477 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0907] 


quite  a different  thing  to  prove  that  this  idea  is  true. 
It  is  one  tiling  to  hit  a mark ; to  know  that  you  have 
hit  the  mark  is  a different  thing.  A bell  may  ring 
to  let  you  know  that  you  have  made  a bull’s-eye ; the 
ringing  of  the  bell  is  the  sign,  the  criterion,  of  the 
correctness  of  your  aim,  but  it  hardly  constitutes 
the  trueness  of  your  aim,  or  your  making  the  bull’s- 
eye.  Leverrier’s  idea  hit  its  mark ; what  was  sub- 
sequently done  made  that  fact  known.  Truth  and 
verification  are  therefore  different  things,  and  to 
make  the  truth  or  the  verity  of  an  idea  consist  in  its 
verification  is  to  introduce  mental  confusion,  and 
to  make  unintelligible  such  a procedure  as  Lever- 
rier’s in  the  discovery  of  Neptune.  It  is  true  to  say 
that  a true  idea  is  one  that  can  be  verified,  and  that 
only  true  ideas  can  be  verified,  but,  then,  these  ideas 
are  not  true  because  they  are  verified;  they  are 
verifiable  because  they  are  already  true. 

This  brings  the  intellectualist  to  the  second  dis- 
tinction upon  which  he  insists,  viz.,  the  distinction 
between  truth  and  its  valuation  in  terms  of  desir- 
able experience.  To  say  that  truth  should  have 
good  practical  consequences,  that  those  ideas  are 
true  which  work  well  in  practice,  that  every  true 
idea  leads  into  satisfying  experiences  of  some  sort, 
is  to  say  what  no  intellectualist  need  deny.  But  to 
say  that  an  idea  is  true  because  it  has  this  prac- 
tically good  issue,  or  because  it  works  well,  is  to 
say  quite  a different  thing,  and  something  which  no 
intellectualist  can  accept.  “There  are,”  so  con- 
tends the  intellectualist,  “conditions  on  which  our 


478 


[1907]  CONTROVERSY  ABOUT  TRUTH 


human  action  or  the  course  of  experience  depends, 
and  to  which  our  actions,  our  experiences,  must  con- 
form if  they  are  to  have  successful  and  satisfying 
issues.  Only  as  a particular  experience  is  in  agree- 
ment with  conditions  of  experience  iiberhaupt  can  it 
lead  to  beneficial  or  desirable  experiences.  Ideas, 
therefore,  can  work  well,  can  lead  successfully, 
only  if  they  first  agree  with  reality,  with  the  ob- 
jective and  determining  conditions  of  our  experi- 
ence.” This  is  just  the  fact  that  the  pragmatist 
overlooks  when  he  identifies  the  truth  of  an  idea 
with  its  practically  good  leadings  and  consequences. 
He  insists  that  truth  shall  be  practical,  but  he  fails 
to  answer  the  question,  How  can  an  idea,  or  a course 
of  experience,  have  a practically  good  leading  or 
result? 

To  take  your  illustration  of  bread  as  food : you 
ask : “Does  bread  nourish  because  it  is  ‘food,’  or  is  it 
food  because  it  nourishes?  Or  are  being  food  and 
nourishing  only  two  ways  of  meaning  the  same 
physiological  events?”  The  intellectualist  answers : 
“Bread  nourishes  us  because  it  contains  those 
chemical  elements  which  are  nutritive.  A particu- 
lar substance  is  not  bread  because  it  nourishes — 
it  nourishes  because  it  is  bread.  Being  food  and 
nourishing  are  two  ways  of  meaning  the  same  phys- 
iological events;  but  being  bread  and  nourishing 
are  not  two  ways  of  meaning  the  same  physiologi- 
cal events.” 

The  intellectualist  need  not  deny  that  a true  idea 
has  an  instrumental  function  in  relation  to  our 


479 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1907] 


various  needs;  that  a true  idea  is  a tool  to  be  used 
in  the  service  of  the  will  or  our  practical  nature; 
but  he  contends  that  the  efficiency  of  the  instru- 
ment, the  serviceableness  of  the  tool,  depends  upon 
the  construction  of  the  instrument,  upon  the  quality 
of  the  tool.  That  a knife  cuts  well,  proves,  indeed, 
that  it  is  a good  knife ; but  that  which  enables  the 
knife  to  cut  well  is  the  quality  of  the  steel  and  the 
fashion  of  the  instrument — in  other  words,  the  knife 
cuts  well  because  it  was  rightly  made.  Its  cutting 
well  merely  proves  that  the  knife  was  rightly  made. 
The  proof  of  the  pudding  is  in  the  eating;  but  it 
will  hardly  do  to  say,  therefore  the  good  eating  is 
the  pudding,  or  is  that  in  the  pudding  which  gives 
us  that  satisfying  experience  of  eating  this  pudding. 

Yours,  etc., 

John  E.  Russell. 


Ill 

Dear  Russell:  Your  letter  is  so  ultraclear  and 
brings  the  question  down  to  where  the  wool  is  so 
short,  that  I can’t  help  dashing  off  one  more  word, 
though  I know  I can’t  convert  you. 

First,  I note  with  extreme  pleasure  your  explicit 
confession  that  “truth”  in  the  intellectualist  sense 
cannot  be  further  defined.  It  means  “agreement,” 
and  agreement  means  “truth.”  That  is  one  point 
clearly  gained. 

My  second  remark  is  simply  this:  If  “true”  be 
not  an  abstract  name  for  the  property  of  verifiabil- 


480 


[3.907]  CONTROVERSY  ABOUT  TRUTH 


ity  in  an  idea,  then  an  idea  might  conceivably  be 
true  though  absolutely  unverifiable.  There  might  be 
no  empirical  mediation  between  it  and  its  object, 
no  leading  either  to  the  object,  or  towards  it,  or  into 
its  associates,  and  yet  it  might  still  be  true  as 
“agreeing”  with  the  object. 

But  then  you  are  met  by  Royce’s  old  argument : 
How  do  you  know  it  means  to  be  true  of  that  object? 
It  might  “agree”  perfectly  in  the  sense  of  copying, 
yet  not  be  true,  unless  it  meant  to  copy,  und  zwar 
that  particular  original.  An  egg  isn’t  true  of  an- 
other egg,  because  it  is  not  supposed  to  aim  at  the 
other  egg  at  all,  or  to  intend  it.  Neither  is  my  tooth- 
ache true  of  your  toothache.  Royce  makes  the  ab- 
solute do  the  aiming  and  intending.  I make  the 
chain  of  empirical  intermediaries  do  it.  What  does 
it  in  your  philosophy? 

Yours,  etc., 

William  James. 


IV 

Hear  James  : According  to  the  meaning  of  a true 
idea  I have  been  maintaining,  it  does  follow  not 
only  that  an  idea  is  true  prior  to  its  verification, 
but  also  that  an  idea  may  remain  unverified  in  our 
human  experience.  I would  not,  however,  say  that 
an  idea  can  be  true  and  be  absolutely  unverifiable ; 
for  there  may  be  such  a being  as  Royce’s  absolute, 
and  if  so,  no  true  idea  can  remain  unverified.  In 
the  experience  of  the  Roycean  absolute,  truth  and 


481 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0907] 


verification  do  not  fall  apart  as  they  do  in  our 
human  experience.  The  Roycean  question  with 
which  you  confront  me,  I must  confess,  has  never 
given  me  a pause  or  seemed  a serious  one  at  all. 
“How  do  you  know  that  your  idea  means  to  be  true 
of  its  object?”  I answer:  “When  I think,  I know 
what  I am  thinking  about,  just  as  I know  what  mark 
I am  aiming  at  when  I am  engaged  in  target-shoot- 
ing. My  thinking  as  such  is  selective  of  its  object, 
and  knows  its  own  intent,  viz.,  to  think  that  object 
as  that  object  is.  My  thought  picks  out  this  par- 
ticular piece  of  the  real  world,  and  means  to  agree 
with  it,  just  as  I pick  out  my  target  and  intend  to 
hit  it.  For  instance,  I am  now  thinking  of  you, 
among  your  books,  in  your  study  at  Cambridge;  I 
mean  to  think  of  you  and  your  immediate  surround- 

9 

ings,  your  present  doings,  as  you  and  they  are  now 
at  this  hour, — ten  o’clock  in  the  morning.  In  so 
doing,  I know  what  object  I mean  to  agree  with  in 
my  present  thinkings.” 

Now  the  Roycean  absolute  may  exist,  and  if  it 
does,  he  of  course  knows  whether  or  not  my  present 
thought  of  you  is  now  true ; but  the  knowing  of  that 
being  is  no  more  necessary  to  constitute  the  truth 
of  my  idea  or  to  explain  the  fact  that  I aim  at  you 
in  my  idea,  than  is  the  presence  of  an  onlooker  when 
I am  shooting  at  a mark  essential  to  my  aiming 
at  and  hitting  or  missing  that  mark.  Nor  does  it 
seem  to  me  that  your  chain  of  intermediaries  is  in 
any  manner  essential  to  the  meaning,  the  intent,  or 
the  truth  of  my  present  thought  of  you,  which  is 


482 


[1907]  CONTROVERSY  ABOUT  TRUTH 


sufficient  unto  itself  both  to  select  its  object  and  to 
determine  its  truth  or  untruth. 

Yours,  etc., 

John  E.  Russell. 

V 

Dear  Russell:  We  seem  now  to  have  laid  bare 
our  exact  difference.  According  to  me  “meaning” 
a certain  object  and  “agreeing”  with  it  are  abstract 
notions  of  both  of  which  definite  concrete  accounts 
can  be  given. 

According  to  you,  they  shine  by  their  own  inner 
light  and  no  further  account  can  be  given.  They 
may  even  “obtain”  (in  cases  where  human  verifica- 
tion is  impossible)  and  make  no  empirical  differ- 
ence to  us.  To  me,  using  the  pragmatic  method  of 
testing  concepts,  this  would  mean  that  the  word 
“truth”  might  on  certain  occasions  have  no  mean- 
ing whatever.  I still  must  hold  to  its  having 
always  a meaning,  and  continue  to  contend  for  that 
meaning  being  unfoldable  and  representable  in  ex- 
periential terms. 

Yours,  etc., 

William  James. 


483 


XXXVII 


REPORT  ON  MRS.  PIPER’S  HODGSON- 
CONTROL 1 

[1909] 

. . . That  a “will-to-personate”  is  a factor  in  the 
Piper-phenomenon,  I fully  believe,  and  I believe 
with  unshakable  firmness  that  this  will  is  able  to 
draw  on  supernormal  sources  of  information.  It 
can  “tap,”  possibly  the  sitter’s  memories,  possibly 
those  of  distant  human  beings,  possibly  some  cosmic 
reservoir  in  which  the  memories  of  earth  are  stored, 
whether  in  the  shape  of  “spirits”  or  not.  If  this 
were  the  only  will  concerned  in  the  performance, 
the  phenomenon  would  be  humbug  pure  and  simple, 
and  the  minds  tapped  telepatliically  in  it  would 
play  an  entirely  passive  role — that  is,  the  tele- 
pathic data  would  be  fished  out  by  the  personat- 
ing will,  not  forced  upon  it  by  desires  to  communi- 
cate, acting  externally  to  itself. 

But  it  is  possible  to  complicate  the  hypothesis. 
Extraneous  “wills  to  communicate”  may  contribute 
to  the  results  as  well  as  a “will  to  personate,”  and 
the  two  kinds  of  will  may  be  distinct  in  entity, 

[’  Selection  reprinted  from  Proceedings  of  the  American  So- 
ciety for  Psychical  Research,  1909,  3,  583-589.  The  report  also 
appeared  in  the  Proceedings  of  the  [English]  Society  for  Psy- 
chical Research,  1909,  23,  1-121.  This  selection  consists  of  gen- 
eral conclusions  appended  to  a report  of  sittings  with  Mrs. 
Piper  in  which  alleged  messages  from  the  late  Richard  Hodgson 
are  recorded  and  tested.  See  note  above,  p.  438.  Ed.] 


484 


[1909]  report  on  hodgson-control 


though  capable  of  helping  each  other  out.  The  will 
to  communicate,  in  our  present  instance,  would  he, 
on  the  prima  facie  view  of  it,  the  will  of  Hodgson’s 
surviving  spirit ; and  a natural  way  of  representing 
the  process  would  be  to  suppose  the  spirit  to  have 
found  that  by  pressing,  so  to  speak,  against  “the 
light,”  it  can  make  fragmentary  gleams  and  flashes 
of  what  it  wishes  to  say  mix  with  the  rubbish  of 
the  trance-talk  on  this  side.  The  two  wills  might 
thus  strike  up  a sort  of  partnership  and  stir  each 
other  up.  It  might  even  be  that  the  “will  to 
personate”  would  be  inert  unless  it  were  aroused  to 
activity  by  the  other  will.  We  might  imagine  the 
relation  to  be  analogous  to  that  of  two  physical 
bodies,  from  neither  of  which,  when  alone,  mechani- 
cal, thermal,  or  electrical  effects  can  proceed,  but  if 
the  other  body  be  present,  and  show  a difference 
of  “potential,”  action  starts  up  and  goes  on  apace. 

Conceptions  such  as  these  seem  to  connect  in 
schematic  form  the  various  elements  in  the  case. 
Its  essential  factors  are  done  justice  to;  and,  by 
changing  the  relative  amounts  in  which  the  rubbish- 
making and  the  truth-telling  wills  contribute  to  the 
resultant,  we  can  draw  up  a table  in  which  every 
type  of  manifestation,  from  silly  planchette-writing 
up  to  Rector’s  best  utterances,  finds  its  proper 
place.  Personally,  I must  say  that,  although  I have 
to  confess  that  no  crucial  proof  of  the  presence  of 
the  “will  to  communicate”  seems  to  me  yielded  by 
the  Hodgson-control  taken  alone,  and  in  the  sittings 
to  which  I have  had  access,  yet  the  total  effect  in  the 


485 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0909] 


way  of  dramatic  probability  of  the  whole  mass  of 
similar  phenomena  on  my  mind,  is  to  make  me 
believe  that  a “will  to  communicate”  is  in  some 
shape  there.  I cannot  demonstrate  it,  but  prac- 
tically I am  inclined  to  “go  in”  for  it,  to  bet  on  it 
and  take  the  risks. 

The  question  then  presents  itself : In  what  shape 
is  it  most  reasonable  to  suppose  that  the  will  thus 
postulated  is  actually  there?  And  here  again  there 
are  various  pneumatological  possibilities,  which 
must  be  considered  first  in  abstract  form.  Thus  the 
will  to  communicate  may  come  either  from  per- 
manent entities,  or  from  an  entity  that  arises  for  the 
occasion.  R.  H.’s  spirit  would  be  a permanent 
entity;  and  inferior  parasitic  spirits  (“daimons,” 
elementals,  or  whatever  their  traditional  names 
might  be)  would  be  permanent  entities.  An  im- 
provised entity  might  be  a limited  process  of  con- 
sciousness arising  in  the  cosmic  reservoir  of  earth’s 
memories,  when  certain  conditions  favoring  sys- 
tematized activity  in  particular  tracts  thereof  were 
fulfilled.  The  conditions  in  that  case  might  be 
conceived  after  the  analogy  of  what  happens  when 
two  poles  of  different  potential  are  created  in  a 
mass  of  matter,  and  cause  a current  of  electricity, 
or  what  not,  to  pass  through  an  intervening  tract  of 
space  until  then  the  seat  of  rest. 

To  consider  the  case  of  permanent  entities  first, 
there  is  no  a priori  reason  why  human  spirits  and 
other  spiritual  beings  might  not  either  co-operate 
at  the  same  time  in  the  same  phenomenon,  or  alter- 


486 


[1909]  REPORT  or  hodgsor-cortrol 


nately  produce  different  manifestations.  Prima 
facie,  and  as  a matter  of  “dramatic”  probability, 
other  intelligences  than  our  own  appear  on  an  enor- 
mous scale  in  the  historic  mass  of  material  which 
Myers  first  brought  together  under  the  title  of  Auto- 
matisms. The  refusal  of  modern  “enlightenment” 
to  treat  “possession”  as  an  hypothesis  to  be  spoken 
of  as  even  possible,  in  spite  of  the  massive  human 
tradition  based  on  concrete  experience  in  its  favor, 
has  always  seemed  to  me  a curious  example  of  the 
power  of  fashion  in  things  scientific.  That  the 
demon-theory  will  have  its  innings  again  is  to  my 
mind  absolutely  certain.  One  has  to  be  “scientific” 
indeed,  to  be  blind  and  ignorant  enough  to  suspect 
no  such  possibility.  But  if  the  liability  to  have 
one’s  somnambulistic  or  automatic  processes  parti- 
cipated in  and  interfered  with  by  spiritual  entities 
of  a different  order  ever  turn  out  to  be  a probable 
fact,  then  not  only  what  I have  called  the  will  to 
communicate,  but  also  the  will  to  personate  may 
fall  outside  of  the  medium’s  own  dream-life.  The 
humbugging  may  not  be  chargeable  to  her  all  alone, 
centres  of  consciousness  lower  than  hers  may  take 
part  in  it,  just  as  higher  ones  may  occasion  some 
of  the  more  inexplicable  items  of  the  veridical  cur- 
rent in  the  stream. 

The  plot  of  possibilities  thus  thickens;  and  it 
thickens  still  more  when  we  ask  how  a will  which 
is  dormant  or  relatively  dormant  during  the  inter- 
vals may  become  consciously  reanimated  as  a spirit- 
personality  by  the  occurrence  of  the  medium’s 


487 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0909] 

trance.  A certain  theory  of  Fechner’s  helps  my 
own  imagination  here,  so  I will  state  it  briefly  for 
my  reader’s  benefit. 

Fechner  in  his  Zend-Avesta  and  elsewhere1  as- 
sumes that  mental  and  physical  life  run  parallel,  all 
memory-processes  being,  according  to  him,  co-ordi- 
nated with  material  processes.  If  an  act  of  yours 
is  to  be  consciously  remembered  hereafter,  it  must 
leave  traces  on  the  material  universe  such  that 
when  the  traced  parts  of  the  said  universe  sys- 
tematically enter  into  activity  together  the  act  is 
consciously  recalled.  During  your  life  the  traces 
are  mainly  in  your  brain;  but  after  your  death, 
since  your  brain  is  gone,  they  exist  in  the  shape  of 
all  the  records  of  your  actions  which  the  outer 
world  stores  up  as  the  effects,  immediate  or  remote, 
thereof,  the  cosmos  being  in  some  degree,  however 
slight,  made  structurally  different  by  every  act  of 
ours  that  takes  place  in  it.2  Now,  just  as  the  air  of 

1 Zend-Avesta,  second  edition,  1901,  Sec.  XXI.,  and  following. 
Compare  also  Elwood  Worcester:  The  Living  Word,  New  York, 
Moffatt,  Yard  & Co.,  1908,  Part  II.,  in  which  a more  popular 
account  of  Fechner’s  theory  of  immortality  is  given.  And  Will- 
iam James,  A Pluralistic  Universe,  Longmans,  Green  and  Co. 
1909,  Lecture  IV. 

1 “It  is  Handel's  work,  not  the  body  with  which  he  did  the 
work,  that  pulls  us  half  over  London.  There  is  not  an  action  of 
a muscle  in  a horse’s  leg  upon  a winter’s  night  as  it  drags  a 
carriage  to  the  Albert  Hall  hut  what  is  in  connection  with,  and 
part  outcome  of,  the  force  generated  when  Handel  sat  in  his 
room  at  Gopsall  and  wrote  the  Messiah.  . . . This  is  the  true 
Handel,  who  is  more  a living  power  among  us  one  hundred  and 
twenty-two  years  after  his  death  than  during  the  time  he  was 
amongst  us  in  the  body.” — Samuel  Butler,  in  the  New  Quarterly, 
I.,  303,  March,  1908. 


488 


[1909]  REPORT  on  hodgson-control 


the  same  room  can  be  simultaneously  used  by  many 
different  voices  for  communicating  with  different 
pairs  of  ears,  or  as  the  ether  of  space  can  carry 
many  simultaneous  messages  to  and  from  mutually 
attuned  Marconi-stations,  so  the  great  continuum 
of  material  nature  can  have  certain  tracts  within 
it  thrown  into  emphasized  activity  whenever  activ- 
ity begins  in  any  part  or  parts  of  a tract  in  which 
the  potentiality  of  such  systematic  activity  inheres. 
The  bodies  (including,  naturally,  the  brains)  of 
Hodgson’s  friends  who  come  as  sitters,  are  of  course 
parts  of  the  material  universe  which  carry  some  of 
the  traces  of  his  ancient  acts.  They  function  as  re- 
ceiving stations.  Hodgson  (at  one  time  of  his  life 
at  any  rate)  was  inclined  to  suspect  that  the  sitter 
himself  acts  “psychometrically,”  or  by  his  body 
being  what,  in  the  trance- jargon,  is  called  an  “in- 
fluence,” in  attracting  the  right  spirits  and  eliciting 
the  right  communications  from  the  other  side.  If, 
now,  the  rest  of  the  system  of  physical  traces  left 
behind  by  Hodgson’s  acts  wTere  by  some  sort  of 
mutual  induction  throughout  its  extent,  thrown  into 
gear  and  made  to  vibrate  all  at  once,  by  the  pres- 
ence of  such  human  bodies  to  the  medium,  we  should 
have  a Hodgson-system  active  in  the  cosmos  again, 
and  the  “conscious  aspect”  of  this  vibrating  system 
might  be  Hodgson’s  spirit  redivivus,  and  recollect- 
ing and  willing  in  a certain  momentary  way.  There 
seems  fair  evidence  of  the  reality  of  psychometry; 
so  that  this  scheme  covers  the  main  phenomena  in  a 
vague  general  way.  In  particular,  it  would  account 


489 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  EE  VIEWS  0909] 


for  the  “confusion”  and  “weakness”  that  are  such 
prevalent  features : the  “system”  of  physical  traces 
corresponding  to  the  given  spirit  would  then  be 
only  imperfectly  aroused.  It  tallies  vaguely  with 
the  analogy  of  energy  finding  its  way  from  higher 
to  lower  levels.  The  sitter,  with  his  desire  to  re- 
ceive, forms,  so  to  speak,  a drainage-opening  or 
sink;  the  medium,  with  her  desire  to  personate, 
yields  the  nearest  lying  material  to  be  drained  off, 
while  the  spirit  desiring  to  communicate  is  drawn 
in  by  the  current  set  up  and  swells  the  latter  by  its 
own  contributions. 

It  is  enough  to  indicate  these  various  possibilities, 
which  a serious  student  of  this  part  of  nature  has 
to  weigh  together,  and  between  which  his  decision 
must  fall.  His  vote  will  always  be  cast  (if  it  ever 
be  cast)  by  the  sense  of  the  dramatic  probabilities 
of  nature  which  the  sum  total  of  his  experience  has 
begotten  in  him.  I myself  feel  as  if  an  external  will 
to  communicate  were  probably  there , that  is,  I find 
myself  doubting,  in  consequence  of  my  whole  ac- 
quaintance with  that  sphere  of  phenomena,  that 
Mrs.  Piper’s  dream-life,  even  equipped  with  “tele- 
pathic” powers,  accounts  for  all  the  results  found. 
But  if  asked  whether  the  will  to  communicate  be 
Hodgson’s,  or  be  some  mere  spirit-counterfeit  of 
Hodgson,  I remain  uncertain  and  await  more  facts, 
facts  which  may  not  point  clearly  to  a conclusion 
for  fifty  or  a hundred  years.  . . . 


490 


XXXVIII 


BRADLEY  OR  BERGSON?  1 

[1910] 

Dr.  Bradley  has  summed  up  his  Weltanschauung 
in  last  October’s  Mind / in  an  article  which  for  sin- 
cerity and  brevity  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired. 
His  thought  and  Bergson’s  run  parallel  for  such 
a distance,  yet  diverge  so  utterly  at  last  that  a com- 
parison seems  to  me  instructive.  The  watershed 
is  such  a knife-edge  that  no  reader  who  leans  to 
one  side  or  the  other  can  after  this  plead  ignorance 
of  the  motives  of  his  choice. 

Bradley’s  first  great  act  of  candor  in  philosophy 
was  his  breaking  loose  from  the  Kantian  tradition 
that  immediate  feeling  is  all  disconnectedness.  In 
his  Logic  as  well  as  in  his  Appearance  he  insisted 
that  in  the  flux  of  feeling  we  directly  encounter 
reality,  and  that  its  form,  as  thus  encountered,  is 
the  continuity  and  wholeness  of  a transparent 
much-at-once.  This  is  identically  Bergson’s  doc- 
trine. In  affirming  the  “endosmosis”  of  adjacent 
parts  of  “living”  experience,  the  French  writer 

C1  Reprinted  from  Journal  of  Philosophy,  Psychology,  and 
Scientific  Methods , 1910,  7,  29-33.  Ed.] 

[2  F.  H.  Bradley,  “Coherence  and  Contradiction,”  Mind,  1909, 
N.S.  18,  489-508.  Ed.] 


491 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0910] 


treats  the  minimum  of  feeling  as  an  immediately 
intuited  mucli-at-once. 

The  idealist  tradition  is  that  feelings,  aborig- 
inally discontinuous,  are  woven  into  continuity  by 
the  various  synthetic  concepts  which  the  intellect 
applies.  Both  Bradley  and  Bergson  contradict  this 
flatly;  and  although  their  tactics  are  so  different, 
their  battle  is  the  same.  They  destroy  the  notion 
that  conception  is  essentially  a unifying  process. 
For  Bergson  all  concepts  are  discrete;  and  though 
you  can  get  the  discrete  out  of  the  continuous,  out 
of  the  discrete  you  can  never  construct  the  continu- 
ous again.  Concepts,  moreover,  are  static,  and  can 
never  be  adequate  substitutes  for  a perceptual  flux 
of  which  activity  and  change  are  inalienable  fea- 
tures. Concepts,  says  Bergson,  make  things  less, 
not  more,  intelligible,  when  we  use  them  seriously 
and  radically.  They  serve  us  practically  more  than 
theoretically.  Throwing  their  map  of  abstract 
terms  and  relations  round  our  present  experience, 
they  show  its  bearings  and  let  us  plan  our  way. 

Bradley  is  just  as  independent  of  rationalist  tra- 
dition, and  is  more  thoroughgoing  still  in  his  criti- 
cism of  the  conceptual  function.  When  we  handle 
felt  realities  by  our  intellect  they  grow,  according 
to  him,  less  and  less  comprehensible;  activity  be- 
comes inconstruable,  relation  contradictory,  change 
inadmissible,  personality  unintelligible,  time,  space, 
and  causation  impossible— nothing  survives  the 
Bradley  an  wreck. 

The  breach  which  the  two  authors  make  with 


492 


[1910] 


BRADLEY  OR  BERGSON? 


previous  rationalist  opinion  is  complete,  and  they 
keep  step  with  each  other  perfectly  up  to  the  point 
where  they  diverge.  Sense-perception  first  develops 
into  conception;  and  then  conception,  developing 
its  subtler  and  more  contradictory  implications, 
comes  to  an  end  of  its  usefulness  for  both  authors, 
and  runs  itself  into  the  ground.  Arrived  at  this 
conviction,  Bergson  drops  conception — which  ap- 
parently has  done  us  all  the  good  it  can  do;  and, 
turning  back  towards  perception  with  its  trans- 
parent multiplicity-in-union,  he  takes  its  data  in- 
tegrally up  into  philosophy,  as  a kind  of  material 
which  nothing  else  can  replace.  The  fault  of  our 
perceptual  data,  he  tells  us,  is  not  of  nature,  but 
only  of  extent;  and  the  way  to  know  reality  inti- 
mately is,  according  to  this  philosopher,  to  sink  into 
those  data  and  get  our  sympathetic  imagination 
to  enlarge  their  hounds.  Deep  knowledge  is  not 
of  the  conceptually  mediated,  but  of  the  immediate 
type.  Bergson  thus  allies  himself  with  old-fash- 
ioned empiricism,  on  the  one  hand,  and  with  mys- 
ticism, on  the  other.  His  breach  with  rationalism 
could  not  possibly  be  more  thorough  than  it  is. 

Bradley’s  breach  is  just  as  thorough  in  its  first 
two  steps.  The  form  of  oneness  in  the  flow  of  feel- 
ing is  an  attribute  of  reality  which  even  the  abso- 
lute must  preserve.  Concepts  are  an  organ  of  mis- 
understanding rather  than  of  understanding;  they 
turn  the  “reality”  which  we  “encounter”  into  an 
“appearance”  which  we  “think.”  But  with  all  this 
anti-rationalist  matter , Bradley  is  faithful  to  his 


493 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0910] 


anti-empiricist  manner  to  the  end.  Crude  unmedi- 
ated feelings  shall  never  form  a part  of  “truth.” 
“Judgment,  on  our  view,”  he  writes,  “transcends 
and  must  transcend  the  immediate  unity  of  feeling 
upon  which  it  can  not  cease  to  depend.  Judg- 
ment has  to  qualify  the  real  ideally.  . . . This  is 
the  fundamental  inconsistency  of  judgment,  . . . 
for  ideas  can  not  qualify  reality  as  reality  is  quali- 
fied immediately  in  feeling.  . . . The  reality  as 
conditioned  in  feeling  has  been  in  principle  aban- 
doned, while  other  conditions  have  not  been 
found.”1 

Abandoned  in  “principle,”  Mr.  Bradley  says ; and, 
in  sooth,  nothing  but  a sort  of  religious  principle 
against  admitting  “untransformed”  feeling  into 
philosophy  would  seem  to  explain  his  procedure 
from  here  onwards.  “At  the  entrance  of  philos- 
ophy,” he  says,  “there  appears  to  be  a point  at 
which  the  roads  divide.  By  the  one  way  you  set 
out  to  seek  truth  in  ideas.  ...  On  this  road  what 
is  sought  is  ideas,  and  nothing  else  is  current.  . . . 
If  you  enter  here  you  are  committed  to  this  prin- 
ciple. . . . [This]  whole  way  doubtless  may  be  de- 
lusion; but,  if  you  choose  to  take  this  way  ...  no 
possible  appeal  to  designation  [ i.e to  feeling]  in 
the  end  is  permitted.  . . . This  I take  to  be  the 
way  of  philosophy.  ...  It  is  not  the  way  of  life 
or  of  common  knowledge,  and  to  commit  oneself 
to  such  a principle  may  be  said  to  depend  upon 
choice.  The  way  of  life  starts  from  and  in  the 

1 Mind,  October,  1909,  p.  498. 

494 


[1910] 


BRADLEY  OR  BERGSON? 


end  it  rests  on  dependence  upon  feeling.  . . . Out- 
side of  philosophy  there  is  no  consistent  course  but 
to  accept  the  unintelligible.  For  worse  or  for  bet- 
ter the  man  who  stands  on  particular  feeling  must 
remain  outside  of  philosophy.  ...  I recognize  that 
in  life  and  in  ordinary  knowledge  one  can  never 
wholly  cease  to  rest  on  this  ground.  But  how  to 
take  over  into  ultimate  theory  and  to  use  there 
this  certainty  of  feeling,  while  still  leaving  that 
untransformed,  I myself  do  not  know.  I admit  that 
philosophy,  as  I conceive  it,  is  one-sided.  I under- 
stand the  dislike  of  it  and  the  despair  of  it  while 
this  its  defect  is  not  remedied.  But  to  remedy  the 
defect  by  importing  bodily  into  philosophy  the 
‘this’  and  ‘thine,’  as  they  are  felt,  to  my  mind 
brings  destruction  on  the  spot.”1 

Mr.  Bradley’s  “principle”  seems  to  be  only  that 
of  doggedly  following  a line  once  entered  on  to  the 
bitterest  of  ends.  We  encounter  reality  in  feeling, 
and  find  that  when  we  develop  it  into  ideas  it  be- 
comes more  intelligible  in  certain  definite  respects. 
We  then  have  “truth”  instead  of  reality;  which 
truth,  however,  pursued  beyond  a certain  practical 
point,  develops  into  the  whole  bog  of  unintelligibili- 
ties through  which  the  critical  part  of  Appearance 
and  Reality  wades.  The  wise  and  natural  course 
at  this  point  would  seem  to  be  to  drop  the  notion 
that  truth  is  a thoroughgoing  improvement  on  re- 
ality, to  confess  that  its  value  is  limited,  and  to 
hark  back.  But  there  is  nothing  that  Mr.  Bradley, 

1 Mind,  October,  1909,  pp.  500-502. 

495 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  D910] 


religiously  loyal  to  the  direction  of  development 
once  entered  upon,  will  not  do  sooner  than  this. 
Forward,  forward,  let  us  range!  He  makes  the 
desperate  transconceptual  leap,  assumes  beyond 
the  whole  ideal  perspective  an  ultimate  “supra- 
relational”  and  transconceptual  reality  in  which 
somehow  the  wholeness  and  certainty  and  unity  of 
feeling,  which  we  turned  our  backs  on  forever  when 
we  committed  ourselves  to  the  leading  of  ideas, 
are  supposed  to  be  resurgent  in  transfigured  form ; 
and  shows  us  as  the  only  authentic  object  of  phil- 
osophy, with  its  “way  of  ideas,”  an  absolute  which 
“can  be”  and  “must  be”  and  therefore  “is.”  “It 
shall  be”  is  the  only  candid  way  of  stating  its  re- 
lation to  belief ; and  Mr.  Bradley’s  statement  comes 
very  near  to  that. 

How  could  the  elements  of  a situation  be  made 
more  obvious?  Or  what  could  bring  to  a sharper 
focus  the  factor  of  personal  choice  involved? 

The  way  of  philosophy  is  not  the  way  of  life , Mr. 
Bradley  admits,  but  for  the  philosopher,  he  con- 
tinues, it  seems  to  be  all  there  is — which  is  like 
saying  that  the  way  of  starvation  is  not  the  way 
of  life,  but  to  the  starveling  it  is  all  there  is.  Be 
it  so!  Though  what  obliges  one  to  become  either 
such  a philosopher  or  such  a starveling  does  not 

• clearly  appear.  The  only  motive  I can  possibly 
think  of  for  choosing  to  be  a philosopher  on  these 
painful  terms  is  the  old  and  obstinate  intellectual- 

• ist  prejudice  in  favor  of  universals.  They  are 
loftier,  nobler,  more  rational  objects  than  the  par- 


496 


[1910] 


BRADLEY  OR  BERGSON? 


ticulars  of  sense.  In  their  direction,  then,  and 
away  from  feeling,  should  a mind  conscious  of  its 
high  vocation  always  turn  its  face.  Not  to  enter 
life  is  a higher  vocation  than  to  enter  it,  on  this 
view. 

The  motive  is  pathetically  simple,  and  any  one 
can  take  it  in.  On  the  thin  watershed  between 
life  and  philosophy,  Mr.  Bradley  tumbles  to  phil- 
osophy’s call.  Down  he  slides,  to  the  dry  valley  of 
“absolute”  mare’s  nests  and  abstractions,  the  habi- 
tation of  the  fictitious  suprarelational  being  which 
his  will  prefers.  Never  was  there  such  a case  of 
will-to-believe ; for  Mr.  Bradley,  unlike  other  anti- 
empiricists, deludes  himself  neither  as  to  feeling 
nor  as  to  thought : the  one  reveals  for  him  the  inner 
nature  of  reality  perfectly,  the  other  falsifies  it 
utterly  as  soon  as  you  carry  it  beyond  the  first  few 
steps.  Yet  once  committed  to  the  conceptual  direc- 
tion, Mr.  Bradley  thinks  we  can’t  reverse,  we  can 
save  ourselves  only  by  hoping  that  the  absolute 
will  re-realize  unintelligibly  and  “somehow,”  the 
unity,  wholeness,  certainty,  etc.,  which  feeling  so 
immediately  and  transparently  made  us  acquainted 
with  at  first. 

Bergson  and  the  empiricists,  on  the  other  hand, 
tumble  to  life’s  call,  and  turn  into  the  valley  where 
the  green  pastures  and  the  clear  waters  always 
were.  If  in  sensible  particulars  reality  reveals  the 
manyness-in-oneness  of  its  constitution  in  so  con- 
vincing a way,  why  then  withhold,  if  you  will,  the 
name  of  “philosophy”  from  perceptual  knowledge, 


497 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  £1910] 


but  recognize  that  perceptual  knowledge  is  at  any 
rate  the  only  complete  hind  of  knowledge , and  let 
“philosophy”  in  Bradley’s  sense  pass  for  the  one- 
sided affair  which  he  candidly  confesses  that  it  is. 
x When  the  alternative  lies  between  knowing  life 
in  its  full  thickness  and  activity,  as  one  acquainted 
with  its  me’s  and  thee’s  and  now’s  and  here’s , on 
the  one  hand,  and  knowing  a transconceptual  evap- 
oration like  the  absolute,  on  the  other,  it  seems  to 
me  that  to  choose  the  latter  knowledge  merely  be- 
cause it  has  been  named  “philosophy”  is  to  be  super- 
stitiously  loyal  to  a name.  But  if  names  are  to  be 
used  eulogistically,  rather  let  us  give  that  of  phil- 
osophy to  the  fuller  kind  of  knowledge,  the  kind 
in  which  perception  and  conception  mix  their  lights. 

As  one  who  calls  himself  a radical  empiricist, 
I can  find  no  possible  excuse  for  not  inclining 
towards  Bergson’s  side.  He  and  Bradley  together 
have  confirmed  my  confidence  in  non-“transmuted” 
percepts,  and  have  broken  my  confidence  in  con- 
cepts down.  It  seems  to  me  that  their  parallel  lines 
of  work  have  converged  to  a sharp  alternative  which 
now  confronts  everybody,  and  in  which  the  rea- 
sons for  one’s  choice  must  plainly  appear  and  be 
told.  Be  an  empiricist  or  be  a transconceptualist, 
whichever  you  please,  but  at  least  say  why ! I sin- 
cerely believe  that  nothing  but  inveterate  anti- 
empiricist prejudice  accounts  for  Mr.  Bradley’s 
choice;  for  at  the  point  where  he  stands  in  the 
article  I have  quoted,  I can  discover  no  sensible 
reason  why  he  should  prefer  the  way  he  takes.  If 


498 


[1910] 


BRADLEY  OR  BERGSON? 


he  should  ever  take  it  into  his  head  to  revoke,  and 
drop  into  the  other  valley,  it  would  be  a great  day 
for  English  thought.  As  Kant  is  supposed  to  have 
extinguished  all  previous  forms  of  rationalism,  so 
Bergson  and  Bradley,  between  them,  might  lay  post- 
Kantian  rationalism  permanently  underground. 


499 


XXXIX 


A SUGGESTION  ABOUT  MYSTICISM1 

[1910] 

Much  interest  in  the  subject  of  religious  mysti- 
cism has  been  shown  in  philosophic  circles  of  late 
years.  Most  of  the  writings  I have  seen  have 
treated  the  subject  from  the  outside,  for  I know  of 
no  one  who  has  spoken  as  having  the  direct  author- 
ity of  experience  in  favor  of  his  views.  I also  am 
an  outsider,  and  very  likely  what  I say  will  prove 
the  fact  loudly  enough  to  readers  who  possibly  may 
stand  within  the  pale.  Nevertheless,  since  between 
outsiders  one  is  as  good  as  another,  I will  not  leave 
my  suggestion  unexpressed. 

The  suggestion,  stated  very  briefly,  is  that  states 
of  mystical  intuition  may  be  only  very  sudden  and 
great  extensions  of  the  ordinary  “field  of  conscious- 
ness.^ Concerning  the  causes  of  such  extensions  I 
have  no  suggestion  to  make ; but  the  extension  itself 
would,  if  my  view  be  correct,  consist  in  an  immense 
spreading  of  the  margin  of  the  field,  so  that  knowl- 
edge ordinarily  transmarginal  would  become  in- 
cluded, and  the  ordinary  margin  would  grow  more 
central.  Fechner’s  “wave-scheme”  will  diagram- 

P Reprinted  from  Journal  of  Philosophy,  Psychology,  and 
Scientific  Methods,  1910,  7,  85-92.  This  article  was  written 
about  six  months  before  James’s  death.  Ed.] 


500 


[1910]  SUGGESTION  ABOUT  MYSTICISM 


matize  the  alteration,  as  I conceive  it,  if  we  sup- 
pose that  the  wave  of  present  awareness,  steep 
above  the  horizontal  line  that  represents  the  plane 
of  the  usual  “threshold,”  slopes  away  below  it  very 
gradually  in  all  directions.  A fall  of  the  threshold, 
however  caused,  would,  under  these  circumstances, 
produce  the  state  of  things  which  we  see  on  an  un- 
usually flat  shore  at  the  ebb  of  a spring-tide.  Vast 
tracts  usually  covered  are  then  revealed  to  view,  but 
nothing  rises  more  than  a few  inches  above  the 
water’s  bed,  and  great  parts  of  the  scene  are  sub- 
merged again,  whenever  a wave  washes  over  them. 

Some  persons  have  naturally  a very  wide,  others  a 
very  narrow,  field  of  consciousness.  The  narrow 
field  may  be  represented  by  an  unusually  steep  form 
of  the  wave.  When  by  any  accident  the  threshold 
lowers,  in  persons  of  this  type — I speak  here  from 
direct  personal  experience — so  that  the  field  widens 
and  the  relations  of  its  centre  to  matters  usually 
subliminal  come  into  view,  the  larger  panorama 
perceived  fills  the  mind  with  exhilaration  and  sense 
of  mental  power.  It  is  a refreshing  experience; 
and — such  is  now  my  hypothesis — we  only  have  to 
suppose  it  to  occur  in  an  exceptionally  extensive 
form,  to  give  us  a mystical  paroxysm,  if  such  a term 
be  allowed. 

A few  remarks  about  the  field  of  consciousness 
may  be  needed  to  give  more  definiteness  to  my 
hypothesis.  The  field  is  composed  at  all  times  of  a 
mass  of  present  sensation,  in  a cloud  of  memories, 
emotions,  concepts,  etc.  Yet  these  ingredients, 


501 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  [1*>10] 


which  have  to  be  named  separately,  are  not  sepa- 
rate, as  the  conscious  field  contains  them.  Its  form 
is  that  of  a much-at-once,  in  the  unity  of  which 
the  sensations,  memories,  concepts,  impulses,  etc., 
coalesce  and  are  dissolved.  The  present  field  as  a 
whole  came  continuously  out  of  its  predecessor  and 
will  melt  into  its  successor  as  continuously  again, 
one  sensation-mass  passing  into  another  sensation- 
mass  and  giving  the  character  of  a gradually  chang- 
ing present  to  the  experience,  while  the  memories 
and  concepts  carry  time-coefficients  which  place 
whatever  is  present  in  a temporal  perspective  more 
or  less  vast. 

When,  now,  the  threshold  falls,  what  comes  into 
view  is  not  the  next  mass  of  sensation;  for  sensa- 
tion requires  new  physical  stimulations  to  produce 
it,  and  no  alteration  of  a purely  mental  threshold 
can  create  these.  Only  in  case  the  physical  stim- 
uli were  already  at  work  subliminally,  preparing 
the  next  sensation,  would  whatever  sub-sensation 
was  already  prepared  reveal  itself  when  the  thresh- 
old fell.  But  with  the  memories,  concepts,  and 
conational  states,  the  case  is  different.  Nobody 
knows  exactly  how  far  we  are  “marginally”  con- 
scious of  these  at  ordinary  times,  or  how  far  beyond 
the  “margin”  of  onr  present  thought  transmarginal 
consciousness  of  them  may  exist.1  There  is  at  any 

1 Transmarginal  or  subliminal,  the  terms  are  synonymous. 
Some  psychologists  deny  the  existence  of  such  consciousness  al- 
together (A.  H.  Pierce,  for  example,  and  Munsterberg  appar- 
ently). Others,  e.g.,  Bergson,  make  it  exist  and  carry  the  whole 
freight  of  our  past.  Others  again  (as  Myers)  would  have  it 


502 


[1910]  SUGGESTION  ABOUT  MYSTICISM 


rate  no  definite  bound  set  between  what  is  central 
and  what  is  marginal  in  consciousness,  and  the  mar- 
gin itself  has  no  definite  bound  a parte  foris.  It  is 
like  the  field  of  vision,  which  the  slightest  move- 
ment of  the  eye  will  extend,  revealing  objects  that 
always  stood  there  to  be  known.  My  hypothesis  is 
that  a movement  of  the  threshold  downwards  will 
similarly  bring  a mass  of  subconscious  memories, 
conceptions,  emotional  feelings,  and  percejfiions  of 
relation,  etc.,  into  view  all  at  once ; and  that  if  this 
enlargement  of  the  nimbus  that  surrounds  the  sen- 
sational present  is  vast  enough,  while  no  one  of  the 
items  it  contains  attracts  our  attention  singly,  we 
shall  have  the  conditions  fulfilled  for  a kind  of 
consciousness  in  all  essential  respects  like  that 
termed  mystical.  It  will  be  transient,  if  the  change 
of  threshold  is  transient.  It  will  be  of  reality,  en- 
largement, and  illumination,  possibly  rapturously 
so.  It  will  be  of  unification,  for  the  present  coalesces 
in  it  with  ranges  of  the  remote  quite  out  of  its  reach 
under  ordinary  circumstances;  and  the  sense  of 
relation  will  be  greatly  enhanced.  Its  form  will  be 
intuitive  or  perceptual,  not  conceptual,  for  the  re- 
membered or  conceived  objects  in  the  enlarged  field 
are  supposed  not  to  attract  the  attention  singly, 
but  only  to  give  the  sense  of  a tremendous  much- 
ness suddenly  revealed.  If  they  attracted  attention 
separately,  we  should  have  the  ordinary  steep-waved 

extend  (in  the  “telepathic"  mode  of  communication)  from  one 
person's  mind  into  another’s.  For  the  purposes  of  my  hypothesis 
I have  to  postulate  its  existence ; and  once  postulating  it,  I 
prefer  not  to  set  any  definite  bounds  to  its  extent. 


503 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0910] 


consciousness,  and  the  mystical  character  would 
depart. 

Such  is  my  suggestion.  Persons  who  know  some- 
thing of  mystical  experience  will  no  doubt  find  in  it 
much  to  criticize.  If  any  such  shall  do  so  with 
definiteness,  it  will  have  amply  served  its  purpose  of 
helping  our  understanding  of  mystical  states  to  be- 
come more  precise. 

The  notion  I have  tried  ( at  such  expense  of  meta- 
phor) to  set  forth  was  originally  suggested  to  me  by 
certain  experiences  of  my  own,  which  could  only 
be  described  as  very  sudden  and  incomprehensible 
enlargements  of  the  conscious  field,  bringing  with 
them  a curious  sense  of  cognition  of  real  fact.  All 
have  occurred  within  the  past  five  years;  three  of 
them  were  similar  in  type ; the  fourth  was  unique. 

In  each  of  the  three  like  cases,  the  experience 
broke  in  abruptly  upon  a perfectly  commonplace 
situation  and  lasted  perhaps  less  than  two  minutes. 
In  one  instance  I was  engaged  in  conversation,  but 
I doubt  whether  the  interlocutor  noticed  my  abstrac- 
tion. What  happened  each  time  was  that  I seemed 
all  at  once  to  be  reminded  of  a past  experience ; and 
this  reminiscence,  ere  I could  conceive  or  name 
it  distinctly,  developed  into  something  further  that 
belonged  with  it,  this  in  turn  into  something  further 
still,  and  so  on,  until  the  process  faded  out,  leaving 
me  amazed  at  the  sudden  vision  of  increasing  ranges 
of  distant  fact  of  which  I could  give  no  articulate 
account.  The  mode  of  consciousness  was  percep- 
tual, not  conceptual — the  field  expanding  so  fast 


504 


[1910]  SUGGESTION  ABOUT  MYSTICISM 


that  there  seemed  no  time  for  conception  or  identi- 
fication to  get  in  its  work.  There  was  a strongly  » 
exciting  sense  that  my  knowledge  of  past  (or  pres- 
ent?) reality  was  enlarging  pulse  by  pulse,  but  so 
rapidly  that  my  intellectual  processes  could  not 
keep  up  the  pace.  The  content  was  thus  entirely 
lost  to  retrospection — it  sank  into  the  limbo  into 
which  dreams  vanish  as  we  gradually  awake.  The  • 
feeling — I won’t  call  it  belief — that  I had  had  a sud- 
den opening,  had  seen  through  a window,  as  it  were, 
distant  realities  that  incomprehensibly  belonged 
with  my  own  life,  was  so  acute  that  I cannot  shake 
it  off  to-day. 

This  conviction  of  fact-revealed,  together  with  the  * 
perceptual  form  of  the  experience  and  the  inability 
to  make  articulate  report,  are  all  characters  of  mys- 
tical states.  The  point  of  difference  is  that  in  my  • 
case  certain  special  directions  only,  in  the  field  of 
reality,  seemed  to  get  suddenly  uncovered,  whereas 
in  classical  mystical  experiences  it  appears  rather 
as  if  the  whole  of  reality  were  uncovered  at  once. 
Uncovering  of  some  sort  is  the  essence  of  the  phe- 
nomenon, at  any  rate,  and  is  what,  in  the  language 
of  the  Fechnerian  wave-metaphor,  I have  used  the 
expression  “fall  of  the  threshold”  to  denote. 

My  fourth  experience  of  uncovering  had  to  do 
with  dreams.  I was  suddenly  intromitted  into  the  ^ 
cognizance  of  a pair  of  dreams  that  I could  not  re- 
member myself  to  have  had,  yet  they  seemed  some- 
how to  connect  with  me.  I despair  of  giving  the 
reader  any  just  idea  of  the  bewildering  confusion 


505 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  KE VIEWS  0910] 


of  mind  into  which  I was  thrown  by  this,  the  most 
intensely  peculiar  experience  of  my  whole  life.  I 
wrote  a full  memorandum  of  it  a couple  of  days 
after  it  happened,  and  appended  some  reflections. 
Even  though  it  should  cast  no  light  on  the  condi- 
tions of  mysticism,  it  seems  as  if  this  record  might 
be  worthy  of  publication,  simply  as  a contribution 
to  the  descriptive  literature  of  pathological  mental 
states.  I let  it  follow,  therefore,  as  originally  writ- 
ten, with  only  a few  words  altered  to  make  the 
account  more  clear. 

“San  Francisco,  Feb.  14th  1906. — The  night  be- 
fore last,  in  my  bed  at  Stanford  University,  I woke 
at  about  7.30  A.M.,  from  a quiet  dream  of  some  sort, 
and  whilst  gathering  my  waking  wits,  seemed  sud- 
denly to  get  mixed  up  with  reminiscences  of  a dream 
of  an  entirely  different  sort,  which  seemed  to  tele- 
scope, as  it  were,  into  the  first  one,  a dream  very 
elaborate,  of  lions,  and  tragic.  I concluded  this  to 
have  been  a previous  dream  of  the  same  sleep ; but 
' the  apparent  mingling  of  two  dreams  was  something 
very  queer,  which  I had  never  before  experienced. 

“On  the  following  night  (Feb.  12-13)  I awoke 
suddenly  from  my  first  sleep,  which  appeared  to 
have  been  very  heavy,  in  the  middle  of  a dream,  in 
thinking  of  which  I became  suddenly  confused  by 
the  contents  of  two  other  dreams  that  shuffled  them- 
selves abruptly  in  between  the  parts  of  the  first 
dream,  and  of  which  I couldn’t  grasp  the  origin. 
Whence  come  these  dreams  f I asked.  They  were 
close  to  me,  and  fresh,  as  if  I had  just  dreamed 


506 


[1910]  SUGGESTION  ABOUT  MYSTICISM 


them;  and  yet  they  were  far  away  from  the  first 
dream.  The  contents  of  the  three  had  absolutely  no 
connection.  One  had  a cockney  atmosphere,  it  had 
happened  to  some  one  in  London.  The  other  two 
were  American.  One  involved  the  trying  on  of  a 
coat  (was  this  the  dream  I seemed  to  wake  from?) 
the  other  was  a sort  of  nightmare  and  had  to  do 
with  soldiers.  Each  had  a wholly  distinct  emo- 
tional atmosphere  that  made  its  individuality  dis- 
continuous with  that  of  the  others.  And  yet,  in  a 
moment,  as  these  three  dreams  alternately  tele- 
scoped into  and  out  of  each  other,  and  I seemed  to 
myself  to  have  been  their  common  dreamer,  they 
seemed  quite  as  distinctly  not  to  have  been  dreamed 
in  succession,  in  that  one  sleep.  Whew,  then?  Not 
on  a previous  night,  either.  When , then,  and  which 
was  the  one  out  of  which  I had  just  awakened?  I 
could  no  longer  tell:  one  was  as  close  to  me  as  the 
others,  and  yet  they  entirely  repelled  each  other, 
and  I seemed  thus  to  belong  to  three  different 
dream-systems  at  once,  no  one  of  which  would  con- 
nect itself  either  with  the  others  or  with  my  waking 
life.  I began  to  feel  curiously  confused  and  scared , 
and  tried  to  wake  myself  up  wider,  but  I seemed 
already  wide-awake.  Presently  cold  shivers  of 
dread  ran  over  me : am  I getting  into  other  people’s 
dreams?  Is  this  a Telepathic’  experience?  Or  an 
invasion  of  double  (or  treble)  personality?  Or  is  it 
a thrombus  in  a cortical  artery?  and  the  beginning 
of  a general  mental  ‘confusion’  and  disorientation 
which  is  going  on  to  develop  who  knows  how  far? 


507 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0910] 


“Decidedly  I was  losing  hold  of  my  ‘self/  and 
making  acquaintance  with  a quality  of  mental  dis- 
tress that  I had  never  known  before,  its  nearest 
analogue  being  the  sinking,  giddying  anxiety  that 
one  may  have  when,  in  the  woods,  one  discovers  that 
one  is  really  ‘lost.’  Most  human  troubles  look  to- 
wards a terminus.  Most  fears  point  in  a direction, 
and  concentrate  towards  a climax.  Most  assaults 
of  the  evil  one  may  be  met  by  bracing  oneself  against 
something,  one’s  principles,  one’s  courage,  one’s 
will,  one’s  pride.  But  in  this  experience  all  was 
diffusion  from  a centre,  and  foothold  swept  away, 
the  brace  itself  disintegrating  all  the  faster  as  one 
needed  its  support  more  direly.  Meanwhile  vivid 
perception  (or  remembrance)  of  the  various  dreams 
kept  coming  over  me  in  alternation.  Whose? 
whose?  whose?  Unless  I can  attach  them,  I am 
swept  out  to  sea  with  no  horizon  and  no  bond,  get- 
ting lost.  The  idea  aroused  the  ‘creeps’  again,  and 
with  it  the  fear  of  again  falling  asleep  and  renewing 
the  process.  It  had  begun  the  previous  night,  but 
then  the  confusion  had  only  gone  one  step,  and  had 
seemed  simply  curious.  This  was  the  second  step — 
where  might  I be  after  a third  step  had  been  taken? 
My  teeth  chattered  at  the  thought. 

“At  the  same  time  I found  myself  filled  with  a 
new  pity  towards  persons  passing  into  dementia 
with  V erwirrtheit , or  into  invasions  of  secondary 
personality.  We  regard  them  as  simply  curious; 
but  what  they  want  in  the  awful  drift  of  their  being 
out  of  its  customary  self,  is  any  principle  of  steadi- 


508 


[1910]  SUGGESTION  ABOUT  MYSTICISM 


ness  to  hold  on  to.  We  ought  to  assure  them  and 
reassure  them  that  we  will  stand  by  them,  and 
recognize  the  true  self  in  them  to  the  end.  We 
ought  to  let  them  know  that  we  are  with  them 
and  not  (as  too  often  we  must  seem  to  them)  a part 
of  the  world  that  but  confirms  and  publishes  their 
deliquescence. 

“Evidently  I was  in  full  possession  of  my  reflec- 
tive wits ; and  whenever  I thus  objectively  thought 
of  the  situation  in  which  I was,  my  anxieties  ceased. 
But  there  was  a tendency  to  relapse  into  the  dreams 
and  reminiscences,  and  to  relapse  vividly ; and  then 
the  confusion  recommenced,  along  with  the  emotion 
of  dread  lest  it  should  develop  farther. 

“Then  I looked  at  my  watch.  Half-past  twelve! 
Midnight,  therefore.  And  this  gave  me  another 
reflective  idea.  Habitually,  on  going  to  bed,  I fall 
into  a very  deep  slumber  from  which  I never  natu- 
rally awaken  until  after  two.  I never  awaken, 
therefore,  from  a midnight  dream,  as  I did  to-night, 
so  of  midnight  dreams  my  ordinary  consciousness 
retains  no  recollection.  My  sleep  seemed  terribly 
heavy  as  I woke  to-night.  Dream  states  carry  dream 
memories — why  may  not  the  two  succedaneous 
dreams  (whichever  two  of  the  three  were  succeda- 
neous) be  memories  of  twelve  o’clock  dreams  of  pre- 
vious nights , swept  in,  along  with  the  just-fading 
dream,  into  the  just-waking  system  of  memory? 
Why,  in  short,  may  I not  be  tapping,  in  a way  pre- 
cluded by  my  ordinary  habit  of  life,  the  midnight 
stratum  of  my  past  experiences? 


509 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0910] 

“This  idea  gave  great  relief — I felt  now  as  if  I 
were  in  full  possession  of  my  anima  rationalis.  I 
turned  on  my  light,  resolving  to  read  myself  to 
sleep.  But  I didn’t  read,  I felt  drowsy  instead,  and, 
putting  out  the  light,  soon  was  in  the  arms  of 
Morpheus. 

“I  woke  again  two  or  three  times  before  day- 
break with  no  dream-experiences,  and  finally,  with 
a curious,  but  not  alarming,  confusion  between  two 
dreams,  similar  to  that  which  I had  had  the  previ- 
ous morning,  I awoke  to  the  new  day  at  seven. 

“Nothing  peculiar  happened  the  following  night, 
so  the  thing  seems  destined  not  to  develop  any 
further.”1 

1 1 print  the  rest  of  my  memorandum  in  the  shape  of  a note : — 

“Several  ideas  suggest  themselves  that  make  the  observation 
instructive. 

“First,  the  general  notion,  now  gaining  ground  in  mental 
medicine,  that  certain  mental  maladies  may  be  foreshadowed  in 
dream-life,  and  that  therefore  the  study  of  the  latter  may  be 
profitable. 

“Then  the  specific  suggestion,  that  states  of  ‘confusion,’  loss 
of  personality,  apraxia,  etc.,  so  often  taken  to  indicate  cortical 
lesion  or  degeneration  of  dementic  type,  may  be  very  superficial 
functional  affections.  In  my  own  case  the  confusion  was  fou- 
droyante — a state  of  consciousness  unique  and  unparalleled  in 
my  sixty-four  years  of  the  world’s  experience ; yet  it  alternated 
quickly  with  perfectly  rational  states,  as  this  record  shows.  It 
seems,  therefore,  merely  as  if  the  threshold  between  the  ra- 
tional and  the  morbid  state  had,  in  my  case,  been  temporarily 
lowered,  and  as  if  similar  confusions  might  be  very  near  the 
line  of  possibility  in  all  of  us. 

“There  are  also  the  suggestions  of  a telepathic  entrance  into 
some  one  else’s  dreams,  and  of  a doubling  up  of  personality. 
In  point  of  fact  I don't  know  now  ‘who’  had  those  three  dreams, 
or  which  one  ‘I’  first  woke  up  from,  so  quickly  did  they  substi- 
tute themselves  back  and  forth  for  each  other,  discontinuously. 


510 


SUGGESTION  ABOUT  MYSTICISM 


The  distressing  confusion  of  mind  in  this  experi- 
ence was  the  exact  opposite  of  mystical  illumination, 
and  equally  unmystical  was  the  definiteness  of  what 
was  perceived.  But  the  exaltation  of  the  sense  of 
relation  was  mystical  (the  perplexity  all  revolved 
about  the  fact  that  the  three  dreams  both  did  and 
did  not  belong  in  the  most  intimate  way  together ) ; 
and  the  sense  that  reality  was  being  uncovered  was 
mystical  in  the  highest  degree.  To  this  day  I feel 
that  those  extra  dreams  were  dreamed  in  reality, 
but  when,  where,  and  by  whom,  I can  not  guess. 

In  the  Open  Court  for  December,  1909,  Mr.  Fred- 
erick Hall  narrates  a fit  of  ether-mysticism  which 
agrees  with  my  formula  very  well.  When  one  of  his 
doctors  made  a remark  to  the  other,  he  chuckled, 
for  he  realized  that  these  friends  “believed  they  saw 
real  things  and  causes,  but  they  didn’t,  and  I 
did.  ...  I was  where  the  causes  were  and  to  see 
them  required  no  more  mental  ability  than  to  recog- 
nize a color  as  blue.  . . . The  knowledge  of  how 
little  [the  doctors]  actually  did  see,  coupled  with 
their  evident  feeling  that  they  saw  all  there  was, 
was  funny  to  the  last  degree.  . . . [They]  knew  as 
little  of  the  real  causes  as  does  the  child  who,  view- 
ing a passing  train  and  noting  its  revolving  wheels, 
supposes  that  they,  turning  of  themselves,  give  to 
coaches  and  locomotive  their  momentum.  Or  im- 

Their  discontinuity  was  the  pivot  of  the  situation.  My  sense 
of  it  was  as  ‘vivid’  and  ‘original’  an  experience  as  anything 
Hume  could  ask  for.  And  yet  they  kept  telescoping ! 

“Then  there  is  the  notion  that  by  waking  at  certain  hours  we 
may  tap  distinct  strata  of  ancient  dream-memory.” 


511 


COLLECTED  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  0910] 


agine  a man  seated  in  a boat,  surrounded  by  dense 
fog,  and  out  of  the  fog  seeing  a flat  stone  leap  from 
the  crest  of  one  wave  to  another.  If  he  had  always 
sat  thus,  his  explanations  must  be  very  crude  as 
compared  with  those  of  a man  whose  eyes  could 
pierce  fog,  and  who  saw  upon  the  shore  the  boy 
skipping  stones.  In  some  such  way  the  remarks 
of  the  two  physicians  seemed  to  me  like  the  last  two 
‘skips’  of  a stone  thrown  from  my  side.  . . . All 
that  was  essential  in  the  remark  I knew  before  it 
was  made.  Thus  to  discover  convincingly  and  for 
myself,  that  the  things  which  are  unseen  are  those 
of  real  importance,  this  was  sufficiently  stimulat- 
ing.” 

It  is  evident  that  Mr.  Hall’s  marginal  field  got 
enormously  enlarged  by  the  ether,  yet  so  little  de- 
fined as  to  its  particulars  that  what  he  perceived 
was  mainly  the  thoroughgoing  causal  integration 
of  its  whole  content.  That  this  perception  brought 
with  it  a tremendous  feeling  of  importance  and 
superiority  is  a matter  of  course. 

I have  treated  the  phenomenon  under  discussion 
as  if  it  consisted  in  the  uncovering  of  tracts  of  con- 
sciousness. Is  the  consciousness  already  there  wait- 
ing to  be  uncovered?  and  is  it  a veridical  revelation 
of  reality?  These  are  questions  on  which  I do  not 
touch.  In  the  subjects  of  the  experience  the  “emo- 
tion of  conviction”  is  always  strong,  and  sometimes 
absolute.  The  ordinary  psychologist  disposes  of 
the  phenomenon  under  the  conveniently  “scientific” 
head  of  petit  mal,  if  not  of  “boah”  or  “rubbish.” 


512 


[1910]  SUGGESTION  ABOUT  MYSTICISM 


But  we  know  so  little  of  the  noetic  value  of  ab- 
normal mental  states  of  any  kind  that  in  my  opinion 
we  had  better  keep  an  open  mind  and  collect  facts 
sympathetically  for  a long  time  to  come.  We  shall 
not  understand  these  alterations  of  consciousness 
either  in  this  generation  or  in  the  next. 


513 


INDEX 


Absolute,  The  : 467-469. 
American  Psychological  As- 
sociation : 371. 

Anaesthesia  : 365-370. 

Bain,  A. : 26-29,  93,  102,  125, 
127,  130,  183,  260. 

Baldwin,  J.  M. : 390. 

Bastian,  H.  C. : 164. 

Beard,  G.  M. : 241-242. 

Belief  : 205-206. 

Bergson,  H. : 491-499. 
Bernhardt  : 186. 

Berkley  : 365. 

Berkeley"  : 434. 

Biran,  Maine  de  : 181. 

Blood,  B.  P. : 134-135. 
Bracket  : 265. 

Bradley,  F.  H. : 333-341,  491- 
499. 

Bridgman,  Laura  : 453-458. 

Carlyle  : 132. 

Carpenter,  W.  B. : 183. 
Cattell,  J.  McK.  : 390. 
Clifford,  W.  K. : 66,  118,  137- 
146. 

Cognition.  See  Knowledge. 
Consciousness.  See  Mind. 

D’Alembert:  90,  127. 

Darwin  : 21,  63. 

Degeneration  : 401-405. 
Dewey,  J. : 445,  447,  450. 
Dizziness  : 220-243. 

Duhring,  E. : 132. 

Emerson  : 62. 

Emotion  : 187-189,  244-275, 

346-370. 

Empiricism  : 4-11,  28. 

Ethics  : 147-150. 

Evolution  : 147. 


Faith  : 69-82,  140. 

Fechner,  G.  T. : 118,  500. 
Feeling  : 347,  364. 

Ferrier,  D. : 164-167,  187. 
Ford,  E. : 328-332. 

Freedom  : 208. 

Fullerton,  G.  S. : 397. 

Genius  : 401-405. 

German  Traits  : 12-13. 

God,  Conception  of  : 414r-429, 
464-465. 

Gore,  W.  C. : 467-469. 

Graefe,  A. : 171,  174. 

Hall,  F. : 511. 

Hartmann  : 13-17,  87,  99. 
Hegel  : 127,  282-283. 
Helmholtz  : 31,  169-170,  174, 
231. 

Herbart  : 209,  392. 

IIering,  E. : 174,  177. 

Hodgson,  R. : 438-441,  484r- 
490. 

Hodgson,  S. : 133,  373-375, 
380. 

Howison,  G. : 430. 

Humanism  : 447,  448-452. 
Hume:  22,  99,  100,  209,  435. 
Huxley,  T.  H. : 66,  72,  100, 
108. 

Idealism  : 276-284,  373,  492. 
Identity  : 339-341. 

Ideo-Motor  Action  : 180-187. 
Illusion  : 285-302. 

Instinct  : 248-250. 

Irons,  D. : 349,  362. 

Jackson,  H. : 153. 

Kant  : 93,  131,  436,  499. 
Keller,  Helen  : 453-458. 
Knowledge  : 278-282,  371-400, 
470-483,  491-499,  505. 


515 


INDEX 


Ladd,  G.  T. : 316-327,  342-345, 
392-393. 

Lange,  C. : 244,  346,  348. 
Lewes,  G.  H. : 4-11,  40^2,  91, 
107,  110,  155. 

Lombroso,  C. : 401-405. 

Lotze  : 99,  154,  182,  304. 

Mach,  E. : 179. 

Meinong,  A. : 398. 

Mill,  James  : 111. 

Mill,  J.  S. : 8,  9,  29-30,  61,  93, 
100,  113. 

Miller,  D.  S. : 359,  377. 

Mind:  40-42,  43-68,  144,  371- 
400. 

Mitchell,  Weir  : 285,  291,  294. 
Muller,  J. : 152. 

Munk,  H.:  184-185. 
Munsterberg,  H. : 359,  390. 
Mysticism  : 500-513. 

Nichols,  H. : 358-359,  388. 

Papini,  G. : 459-466. 

Peirce,  C.  S. : 20,  406,  410  ff., 
448. 

Personal  Idealism  : 442-444, 
450. 

Pessimism  : 12-19. 

Pfleiderer,  E. : 12-19. 

Piper,  Mrs.  : 438-441,  484-490. 
Positivism  : 10,  28,  129,  276. 
Pragmatism  : 406-437,  448, 

450,  459,  466. 

Psychical  Research  : 1-3, 

438-441,  484-490. 
Psychology,  Method  of  : 97, 
155,  316-327,  342-345. 
Putnam,  J.  J. : 164-165. 

Rationality  : 69-82,  83-136. 
Religion  : 276-284. 

Renan  : 36-39. 


Renouvier,  C. : 26,  29-35,  69, 
81-82,  83,  98,  121,  131,  133, 
151,  193-194,  303-409. 

Resemblance,  Relation  of  : 
333-341. 

Robertson,  G.  C. : 310-315. 

Royce,  J. : 276-284,  430,  481, 
482. 

Ruskin  : 269. 

Russell,  J.  E. : 470-483. 

Sargent,  E. : 1. 

Schiller,  F.  C.  S. : 443,  444, 
448-452. 

Schopenhauer  : 14,  15,  17,  23, 
88,  99. 

Seth,  A. : 322. 

Similarity'.  See  Resemblance. 

Sollier,  P. : 366-370. 

Soul.  See  Mind. 

Space,  Perception  of  : 310- 
315,  328-332. 

Spencer  : 30,  33,  43-68,  90,  91, 
99,  107,  114,  118,  147-150. 

Strumpell,  L. : 272-275. 

Stumpf,  K. : 330,  334,  340. 

Sturt,  H. : 442-444. 

Taine:  112,  118. 

Truth  : 406-437,  448,  449,  466, 
470-483. 

Tyndall  : 107. 

Ueberweg,  F. : 87. 

Voltaire  : 43. 

Watson,  J. : 116. 

Will  : 33-35,  50,  143,  151-219, 
303-309. 

Worcester,  W.  L. : 349-366. 

Wtright,  Chauncey  : 20-25, 

107. 

Wundt,  W. : 153,  346-348,  386. 


516 


Duke  University  Libraries 


DO' 


138385T 




p 


191.9 


J29C 


43628 


